But not a word to him of Lady Trafford's absence—mind that. The latch had not fully caught. He then scaled the northern tower, and made his way to the summit of that part of the prison which fronted Giltspur Street. As she looked in this direction, the thief-taker raised his eyes—those gray, blood-thirsty eyes!—their glare froze the life-blood in her veins. Wood obeyed. Even so much allusion as this to that family shadow, she felt, was an immense recognition of her ripening years. ‘Well, this maid,’ went on Kimble eagerly, ‘and me, we gets to talking, see, and that’s how I knew he were off to this party.
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