Quilt Arnold was stationed at the stair-head, near which the boat containing the captive boy was moored. They were a dull grey, but the dark frizzed hair that framed her face was attractive. A black-garbed figure crept forward, noiselessly, towards Gosse’s back. At times he was brilliant and masterful, talked round and over every one, and would have been domineering if he had not been extraordinarily kindly; at times he was almost monosyllabic, and defeated Miss Garvice’s most skilful attempts to draw him out. “What were you doing?” Her voice was a little hysterical.
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