Standing before a mirror set on a dresser between the windows, two hands frozen in the act of adjusting a wide-brimmed hat on her head, stood a lady in a dark riding habit, her startled features turned towards the door. “If you say so, my pet. '—'No fear o' that,' thought I. Kimble had bedded the animal down at the local inn. “Come right in,” he hissed under his breath, with the true conspirator’s note, closed the door very softly and pointed, “Through there!” By the meagre light of a gas lamp she perceived a cobbled yard with four large furniture vans standing with horses and lamps alight. “Why?” he asked, suavely. And now, a fair exchange, Sir.
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