Rowland, meantime, alarmed by the voices, snatched a torch from his attendant, and holding it over the side of the wherry, witnessed the incident just described. “Our ways happened to lie together. Maggot was equipped in a light blue riding-habit, trimmed with silver, a hunting-cap and a flaxen peruke, and, instead of a whip, carried a stout cudgel. “What made you marry him? What made you leave Paris without a word to any one? What made you and your sister exchange identities?” “There is one answer to all those questions, Nigel,” she said, with a nervous little shudder. There was some justification for her annoyance, for negotiation of the secret passage demanded either a stout heart, or a desperate one. "By desire of his Majesty," said the jailer, consequentially. “Your mother was a Gypsy.
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