Ramage!” she cried, and struggled to her feet. Arrived at the audience-chamber, he set down the light upon a stand, threw open the door, and announced in a loud voice, but with the perfect intonation of the person he represented,—"Sir Rowland Trenchard. “I think,” he said, “that I am right. “Sort of man who can see no further than his nose,” he remarked contemptuously. “I heard the other day that she’d been taken in by some cad of a fellow who was cutting a great dash in Paris, personating Meysey Hill, the great railway man. But her heart kept on sinking. This is a joke of yours. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. There is the election——” He laughed derisively. CHAPTER XI. Austin. “You may not leave.
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