ToC London, at the period of this history, boasted only a single bridge. And now she comprehended that the man (she had never known him by any name) knew she had surprised the look and had not resented it. She took his hand in hers. She could not judge its direction, and began to move swiftly along the bookshelves, her hand running behind her across the spines of the calfbound volumes. Now she knew why the soldiers had not caught him. He was waiting in the outer hall as she tiptoed in. ” “But it is too late,” she declared. The features were indistinct, but was that not a halo of white about it? And the dark shadow below, was that a cloak, or the habit of a nun? Skirting the dancing, from which he had taken a breather—not from lack of energy, but to escape the inanities of the young ladies he had partnered—Gerald made his way to a side door in the saloon and opened it. .
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