The militiaman at once thrust the old man between the shoulder blades, pushing him into the kitchen. "You'll lose no time," said the thief-taker. Figg?" said Jack, peevishly. To find the incentive! But how? Thither and yon the idea roved, seeking the way. Presently he heard her voice. Put out your hand and bid me God-speed. It was a moment or two before Gerald realised that he could feel the fluttering of her pulse beneath the light touch he had on her wrist, and that her fingers were trembling in his. Only her face was clear, frail and delicate, almost flower-like, with the sad haunting eyes ever watching his.
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