The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. But the objects in his range of vision remained unchanged. Five hours later she tiptoed down the hall and paused at the threshold of what they now called his study. He too, when she had disappeared, called a carriage. Then the bridge had arched gateways, bristling with spikes, and garnished (as all ancient gateways ought to be) with the heads of traitors. To-morrow night —or rather to-night, for we are fast verging on another day—I propose to lure him out of the house by a stratagem which I am sure will prove infallible; and, then, what so easy as to knock him on the head.
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