A wooden balcony in one of the adjoining houses was thronged with ladies, all of whom appeared to take a lively interest in the scene, and to be full of commiseration for the criminal, not, perhaps, unmixed with admiration of his appearance. The glance, which he threw at the door, was singularly expressive of his character: it was a mixture of alarm, effrontery, and resolution. Voices floated down, but there was no sound of pursuit. Sir Rowland laid his hand upon his sword. ‘And you mean this? Truly?’ ‘Entirely. O'Higgins. ‘Did she call you that?’ asked Lucilla, amused. But he held the smile until she turned away from the curtain.
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