The tropical dawn is swift. CHAPTER XIII. ” She became aware of her aunt, through the panes of the greenhouse, advancing with an air of serene unconsciousness from among the raspberry canes. "He must be somewhere hereabouts," cried one of the horsemen, dismounting. He never said hello, as if it had become a personal taboo for him. If he had nothing to tell her, she had nothing to ask. “Fancy stabbing a man for jealousy!” she thought. The prison gates were besieged like the entrance of a booth at a fair; and the Condemned Hold where he was confined, and to which visitors were admitted at the moderate rate of a guinea a-head, had quite the appearance of a showroom. Just my room. What was the fellow doing in this part of the town? Had not Lady Bicknacre said he was living at Paddington? The Frenchman, booted and neat in buckskin breeches and a plain frockcoat, a flat-brimmed hat on his head, paused a moment at an intersection with one of the roads leading north, apparently seeking a street sign. E.
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