A wooden balcony in one of the adjoining houses was thronged with ladies, all of whom appeared to take a lively interest in the scene, and to be full of commiseration for the criminal, not, perhaps, unmixed with admiration of his appearance. Not us. Only I’m so incensed with that crazy fool Gerald that—oh, well, never mind. I still have a cross stitch she made for me of a little fairy sitting on a daffodil. This was Blueskin, who burst through the trees, and sword in hand assaulted the thief-taker. Not once during the ceremony did the two look at each other, but riveted their gaze upon the lips of the man who was forging the bands: gazed intensively, as if they feared the world might vanish before the last word of the ceremony was spoken.
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