‘Could she have been a spy, after all?’ ‘Oh, she’s not a spy,’ Gerald answered, almost absently. She looked and felt like a fairy princess. "You'll lose no time," said the thief-taker. It was a bogus affair altogether, kept by some blackguard or other of an Englishman. Then she reverted to the trousers. Whence she came,—who she was,—and what she wanted,—were questions which naturally suggested themselves to Blueskin, and he was about to seek for some explanation, when his curiosity was checked by a gesture of silence from the lady. Before retracing his steps, however, he allowed his gaze to range over the vast and beautiful prospect spread out beneath him, which is now hidden, from the traveller's view by the high walls of the General Cemetery, and can, consequently, only be commanded from the interior of that attractive place of burial,—and which, before it was intersected by canals and railroads, and portioned out into hippodromes, was exquisite indeed. As sure as you're sitting there, Mr. “Is that not rather a profitless speculation, my friend?” He seemed deaf to her interruption. “Yes?” he said.
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