CHAPTER XXVIII. She stumbled through a thorny copse, her slippers sliding on patches of sand that gave way to rock. It was an oldfashioned peasant blouse, white, square necked, and trimmed with lace. ‘I think,’ he said pleasantly, ‘that it would be as well if you, Hilary, were to go and fetch the troops. Sheppard, vainly trying to discover a gleam of compassion in the thief-taker's inexorable countenance,—"Mercy! mercy!" "Pshaw!" rejoined Jonathan. As it happens sometimes, the idea stepped down from the dream into the reality; and he saw it more clearly now than he had seen it in the dream.
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