“Didn’t you know he was married?” asked Miss Klegg, and was struck by a thought that made her glance quickly at her companion. She watched the captain tuck the pistol back in his pocket, and perch on the edge of the big desk. 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. ‘Cover her, men. He was indeed still in the throes of his bewilderment. “I suppose you’re like the rest of them. I’m sorry. And now tell me what has happened to my poor mother?" "Ever since your last capture, and Thames's mysterious disappearance, she has been dreadfully ill," replied Winifred; "so ill, that each day was expected to be her last. A tall elegantly dressed woman, followed by a maid, came down the broad staircase.
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