Five hours later she tiptoed down the hall and paused at the threshold of what they now called his study. The major might not indulge in this sort of flirtation in the ordinary way, but he had seen enough among his army colleagues to know just how to go about it. The crowd now dispersed amongst the fields, and thousands of persons were seen hurrying towards Tyburn as fast as their legs could carry them, leaping over hedges, and breaking down every impediment in their course. He bowed over her hand, venturing to drop a kiss on it’s leathery surface. Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. But her temper almost flared again when the sergeant spoke. "A vow," she answered,—"a vow to my dead husband. Most of my people are upstairs dressing for dinner. That Frenchie, that’s who she is. She never questioned the motives of the characters; she had neither the ability nor the conceit for that; but she could and often did correct his lapses in colour. ‘Lord,’ Gerald uttered, his inexplicable annoyance evaporating.
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