The uproar was tremendous—men yelling— dogs barking,—but above all was heard the stentorian voice of Jonathan, urging them on. Running to Gosse, she seized the portrait from his hand and lashed out, taking him off guard, so that he staggered back and fell against the card table. Behind the illustrious personages just described marched a troop of stalwart fellows, with white badges in their hats, quarterstaves, oaken cudgels, and links in their hands. There was an air of repressed gaiety in her actions: the sense of freedom had returned; her heart was empty again. You want to think for a time, to be free for a time. He did not like it, he said, with a significant look, to be reminded of either his books or his dinners after he had done with them. There was some justification for her annoyance, for negotiation of the secret passage demanded either a stout heart, or a desperate one.
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