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"Now, lead me to a hotel where I can get breakfast. There was a lapse of time, an interval of blackness; then he found his hand in hers and she was leading him at a run up the side of the mountain. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. " "On no account," rejoined Wood peremptorily. Brendon looked across the room at her thoughtfully. The more her thoughts dwelt upon the subject, the more convinced she was that she could not go to any one for help; she would have to solve the riddle by her own efforts, by some future experience. The lady grasped it more firmly and turned it upon Hilary.
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