“Is it your maid?” he asked. Sheppard, fervently. The curtains which she had left drawn were open, and the electric lights were turned on. His sword then came in for his scrutiny: he felt at, and appeared satisfied with its edge. Gerald crossed back to the window. Before he could draw in the rein, his steed—startled apparently by some object undistinguishable by the rider,—swerved with such suddenness as to unseat him, and precipitate him on the ground. The very carts and vans and cabs that Wellington Street poured out incessantly upon the bridge seemed ripe and good in her eyes.
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