She would wake in the night to repeat her bitter cry: “Oh, why did I burn those notes?” It added greatly to the annoyance of the situation that she had twice seen Ramage in the Avenue since her return to the shelter of her father’s roof. She uttered a little ejaculative note of joy and rushed to the bed. "Well, he's a pretty fellow at all events," observed Mrs. "Gone," replied the wounded man. Using the shirt, she cleaned away the blood. The drawers at the moment were too busy to attend to her, and she would have seized the opportunity of examining, unperceived, the assemblage within, through a little curtained window that overlooked the adjoining chamber, if an impediment had not existed in the shape of Baptist Kettleby, whose portly person entirely obscured the view. Thames said not another word, but marched boldly towards him, and seized him by the collar.
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