When Jack came to speak of Jonathan Wild, his countenance fell. Her hand came up and she laced her fingers with his. He loved Ann Veronica, he said; he was so mad to have her that he defeated himself, and did crude and alarming and senseless things. Then she looked up the sweep of pine-trees to the towering sunlit cliffs and the high heaven above and then back to his face. "Thank Heaven!" she gasped. For some days we shall be very idle there among the trees and rocks. She was an indignant queen, no doubt she was alarmed and disgusted within limits; but she was highly excited, and there was something, some low adventurous strain in her being, some element, subtle at least if base, going about the rioting ways and crowded insurgent meeting-places of her mind declaring that the whole affair was after all—they are the only words that express it—a very great lark indeed. Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose. " "Do not delay," cried Thames. I want to be very plain with you. Wild on his guard against an assassin.
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