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. But all that could be ascertained in the village was, that a man had ridden off a short time before in the direction of London. . Figg?" asked Gay. His own peculiar genius—a miracle key to the hidden things in men's souls—had given him this immediate and astonishing illumination. "Ay, indeed! And who may that be?" inquired his wife. " He was delighted to find the office deserted. \" Diane Vorsack chirped with the grin of a Cheshire Cat, extending her right hand in greeting. It was scarcely likely that she would have accepted his aid.
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