A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. After an hour of waiting, she slammed her bedroom door and he returned to his basement. “It is not, of course, a pleasant subject of conversation for you or for me, yet I think I may venture to suggest to you that your sister’s—er—indiscretions—have reached a point which makes a separation between you almost a necessity. You cannot—shall not retreat. Why shouldn’t we be martyrs? There’s nothing else for most of us, anyhow. She could now see to read; so she stirred the manuscript about until she came upon the first page. She found Rhea trapped under a rock, her skeletal head exposed. I didn’t get it, why she put on the innocent act. And then suddenly—a relief. "I'm glad to hear it, that's all," he added, taking out his snuff-box, his never-failing resource in such emergencies. He's the only native I trust in these parts. The postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the serving-men made their appearance.
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