‘Could she have been a spy, after all?’ ‘Oh, she’s not a spy,’ Gerald answered, almost absently. Of Jack Sheppard or the assailants they could not discover a single trace. Her head ached with a hollow pain. But it wasn’t the harassment that bothered her. At last some anodyne formed itself from these exercises, and, with eyelashes wet with such feeble tears as only three-o’clock-in-the-morning pathos can distil, she fell asleep. I shall not let you go till I am quite sure. “I never dreamt!” she said.
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