‘Been led up the garden path by that confounded rapscallion. ‘It is all the fault of that lantern. “Perhaps,” she said, “it is the London climate. . Here was not the individual against whom she had been warned. Darting quickly to the chest that contained the priest’s vestments, she leapt onto it and reached her arm down to scrabble behind it on the floor. Enfeebled by his wound, Wild had lost much of his strength, though nothing of his ferocity and energy,—and fiercely assailing Blueskin, he made a desperate but unsuccessful attempt to apprehend him.
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