You must keep out of the way till it's blown over. ” “Of course not,” Anna said. She caught at the idea. Her lover, Darrell, has embarked upon the Thames, where, if he's not capsized by the squall, (for it's blowing like the devil,) he stands a good chance of getting his throat cut by his pursuers—ha! ha! I tracked 'em to the banks of the river, and should have followed to see it out, if the watermen hadn't refused to take me. Ramage!” she cried, and struggled to her feet. Cheveney was looking after her, I think, then. Her fingers were bursting through her gloves, as if to get at once into touch with Ann Veronica.
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