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Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. “I may go to Hatton House later, but you needn’t wait. Uttering a few inarticulate ejaculations,—for he was completely out of breath,— the fugitive placed a bundle in the arms of the carpenter, and, regardless of the consternation he excited in the breast of that personage, who was almost stupified with astonishment, he began to divest himself of a heavy horseman's cloak, which he threw over Wood's shoulder, and, drawing his sword, seemed to listen intently for the approach of his pursuers. He may die. She tried surreptitiously to reach her own dagger, in its cunning hiding place in her petticoat. Ennison stood by her side. " "Are you man, or fiend?" exclaimed Trenchard, staring at the stranger, as he concluded his narration. \"My parents.
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