You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www. A small handgun bobbed at the end of it, aimed at Sheila. " "You are heiress to the Trenchard property," rejoined Jonathan, "one of the largest estates in Lancashire. "Come Bess,—no whimpering. ‘And she’s—’ She broke off, a sudden light in her eyes. “An uncle in New York is dead, and has left him loads of money. Go, and let him in. Raymond Plote would only be missed by his mother. She wore a black satin dress, a little shiny at the seams, a purposeless bow of white tulle at the back of her neck, and a huge chatelaine. Shotbolt nodded in token of acquiescence, and emitted an odd guttural sound. The cell in which she was confined was about six feet long and four wide; the walls were scored all over with fantastic designs, snatches of poetry, short sentences and names,—the work of its former occupants, and of its present inmate. At first she could not tell what it was; but as her eyes became accustomed to the light, she recognized the old coat. Oriental rugs adorned the sea of shiny hardwood floors, kept polished with an eye for detail that bordered on Japanese. “The thing I feel most disposed to say, Miss Stanley,” he began at last, “is that this is very sudden. ” “You think that you can do that?” “I am sure of it,” he answered, confidently.
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