Anna’s face was half turned from him, but her expression, and the tone of her monosyllable puzzled him. Earles watched her anxiously. “There ought to be some means of getting at him,” he said. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. Ramage seemed always fencing about the forbidden topic, probing for openings, and she wondered why she did not give him them. It had been cut down before life was extinct, but a ball from one of the soldiers had pierced his heart.
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