Then Ramage appeared with effusion, and ushered her into his inner apartment. He spent the evening telling her stories of Greece as she sat in front of a roaring fire. Left to himself, he took a survey of the room, and his heart leaped as he beheld over the, chimney-piece, a portrait of himself. "Lean on me," said Jack. She went down, feeling rather than seeing the way. What would you? I cannot fight them all. Don’t touch the handle, Annabel! Curse the thing, you’ve jammed it now. Coming from the gloom of the passage, even the corridors seemed sufficiently illuminated for them to see their way. .
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