‘Suppose you don’t know what sort of proof she was after?’ he asked. Passing at a glance over the whole of the intervening period; leaving in the words of the poet, —The growth untried Of that wide gap— we shall resume our narrative at the beginning of June, 1715. ‘I’ll wager that militiaman never rode the animal, then. No, this was not reasonable. He had the same dark eyes, though lighted by a fierce flame; the same sallow complexion; the same tall, thin figure, and majestic demeanour; the same proud cast of features. One more passer-by; and always would she remember his patience and tenderness and disinterestedness. He cocked an eyebrow. hopelessly, and it made me desperate. As she did so, the ruffles to the jacket of her riding habit fell away, exposing livid blue bruises about her wrist, ugly in the light of day from the window at their back. A fire enveloped her, a fire which was strangely healing, filling her heart with warmth, blotting out the menace of the world. The commissionaire stood there, tall and imperturbable. But his role was altered, and he was now playing the bridegroom in this remarkable drama.
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