"No"—as if her thoughts were elsewhere. But as Rowland sprang to the helm, and gave the signal for pursuit, a roar like a volley of ordnance was heard aloft, and the wind again burst its bondage. ‘Signed by a priest at Le Havre, so it must be true. Observe it—a blue-serge coat. The assassination, as you call it, was, obviously, the vengeance of a kinsman of the injured lady, who no doubt was of good family, upon her seducer. Something like a snarl crossed his face, and ignoring the pistol, he moved forward, seizing her shoulders. The terrors and anxieties of the last few months seemed to have fallen from her, to have passed away like an ugly dream, dismissed with a shudder even from the memory. ‘Where did you get that, miss?’ ‘It is the sword of monsieur le major. How long has Miss Charvill been in England?’ ‘Not long, sir.
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