It is safe. “Hola Marteen!” She exclaimed cheerfully. A thickly-set, sandy young man, with an unwholesome complexion and grease-smooth hair, had entered the room. His name is John. The coach was slowing down, and he realised that they had arrived in Golden Square. He fancied that the turnkeys had discovered his flight and were in pursuit of him,—that they had climbed up the chimney,—entered the Red Room,— tracked him from door to door, and were now only detained by the gate which he had left unbroken in the chapel. Apparently he did not see his recent companions. The game lasted until 7:13. In all these weeks she had not once knelt to pray. Only Leonardo, and then Jack, had shown her that she might be admired. “There is some mystery about you both,” he exclaimed, with sudden earnestness. Here would be the true test of his strength.
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