Aware of the footman hovering, and the hackney coachman’s curious eyes looking down from his box, Gerald leaned a little towards her and spoke in a lowered tone. "'Odd's-my-life!—what's that?" he cried, greatly alarmed. Cathy Beck was terribly upset and was on the verge of exploding. Ruth obeyed, not willingly, but because there was something hypnotic in the authoritative tone. But Jonathan, fixing a terrible look upon him, cried. The more her thoughts dwelt upon the subject, the more convinced she was that she could not go to any one for help; she would have to solve the riddle by her own efforts, by some future experience. She was very satisfied about this. It did not shock her; it amazed her, interested her beyond measure. "And now," he continued, sternly, "was it your master who has just ridden by?" "No," answered Quilt, sullenly. "Ah!" cried Wild, laying down his pen and looking up with a smile of satisfaction. "You are my prisoner.
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