"Wasn't he in some way connected with the Jacobite plots?" "He was," replied Thames. But heavens, I must pack!” She sprang to her feet and disappeared in the room beyond, from which she emerged a few minutes later with flushed cheeks and dishevelled hair. In a few seconds, the shutter flew open,—then the window,—and they were in the room. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. Her hand came up and she laced her fingers with his.
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