Let—it—fall. She pulled down her veil and made her way to the door. Then a handkerchief was thrown over the cage, to prevent the bird from singing; it was her favourite canary. "No offence, I hope, my dear Mrs. ’ Roding blinked. Nevertheless there came a residuum of expostulations. “His stipend forbade it,” she said, and seemed to fall into a train of thought. I went off to round up his wife. Meantime, the lady had overtaken them; but, terrified by the menaces of her vindictive kinsmen, she did not dare to reveal herself to her husband, of whose concealment on the roof of the very house the party were searching she was aware. He's more like a lord than—" As she spoke, steps were heard approaching; the door was thrown open, and a young man marched boldly into the room. .
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