” She looked at him quizzically. . And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band. This island was the one haven he had; he might be forced to remain here for several years—until the Hand had forgotten him. She tested the limits to see how far 79 she could go, often running away for the day, causing him to fret and pace. He HAD followed her! What had he followed her for? He must have followed her all the way from beyond Grosvenor Square. During all their long comradeship he had never so much as ventured to hold her fingers. “What do you mean?” she asked.
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