The well of tears in her eyes was dry. At this juncture, a cry was raised by a servant from below, that the robbers were flying through the garden. “If I had three hands,” she said, with a faint smile, “I would give one to each of you. This morning he heard voices—McClintock's and the Wastrel's. Wood, however, made known his presence to the individual by laying his hand upon his shoulder. Gay, was a stout, good-looking, good-humoured man, about thirty-six, with a dark complexion, an oval face, fine black eyes, full of fire and sensibility, and twinkling with roguish humour—an expression fully borne out by the mouth, which had a very shrewd and sarcastic curl.
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