We are alone and we can say and do what we please. Thames did not try to cheer her. Aha!" he continued, producing a short silver staff, which he carried constantly about with him, and uttering a terrible imprecation, "I see you're confounded. Sir John looked about him, and somehow the laugh died away. A crisis had been reached, and she was almost glad it had been reached. 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.
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