Peste, where was her handkerchief? She remembered then that it had been lost in the struggle with Gerald. “Look at our affair,” he went on, looking up at her. But it was almost choked up with fallen stacks of chimneys, broken beams of timber, and shattered tiles. There was just time for the girl to raise her arm to chest height and draw it back before Roding seized her. She stole a few glances at John as she stood and played the pieces. Behind the poet came Sir James Thornhill. Wood had the advantage of her husband in point of years, being on the sunny side of forty,—a period pronounced by competent judges to be the most fascinating, and, at the same time, most critical epoch of woman's existence,—whereas, he was on the shady side of fifty,—a term of life not generally conceived to have any special recommendation in female eyes. The window was shortly after opened, and a rope ladder, with a lighted horn lantern attached to it, let down.
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