The young rascal had learnt from some of the women-servants that Lady Trafford was from home, and was in the very act of making off when I got down stairs. There was nothing of the phenomenon in this. He leaned towards her as though anxious to see more of her face than that faint delicate profile gleaming like marble in the uncertain light. "Fool!" he cried, "do you think I wouldn't have secured you before this if I hadn't some motive for my forbearance?" "And that motive is fear," replied Jack contemptuously. Wood, reproachfully, as they returned to the parlour.
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