’ ‘But he’s a major of militia, miss. ’ For the moment I thought it was a telegram from Gwen. 1724 THE PRISON-BREAKER. Sure of foot, noiseless, he made the veranda and paused at the side of one of the screened windows. A wooden balcony in one of the adjoining houses was thronged with ladies, all of whom appeared to take a lively interest in the scene, and to be full of commiseration for the criminal, not, perhaps, unmixed with admiration of his appearance. No doubt— because he did not understand you—he thought you had run away with someone. She would be haunted by the visions of their mad faces in her dreams for the next hundred years.
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