It was maddening to be made to feel that he was in any way the inferior of this cool, self-possessed young woman, whose eyes seemed for a moment to scintillate with scorn. "Have you got Jonathan out of the way?" he asked, in an eager whisper. The sun was setting in spectacular multicolored streams beyond Whitefield Park. What passed between them I cannot think—I dare not. Before he re-entered the prison, he hesitated from a doubt whether he was not fearfully increasing his risk of capture; but, convinced that he had no other alternative, he went on. A vague desire to justify himself ruffled her father. ’ ‘Unless it is Captain Roding,’ put in Lucilla Froxfield from the curved back sofa on the other side of the fireplace. .
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