"I've said it," rejoined Jonathan, peremptorily. ‘There is no one who could have told him this. “To tell you the truth, it has seemed just lately as though we were becoming in some measure estranged. The ink, contained in a grimy bottle unearthed in the outhouse, was old, and made blotches as soon as it touched the paper. And, anyhow, it doesn’t matter to us. Any one less courageous than himself would have abandoned the attempt from a conviction of its utter hopelessness; but, though it might for a moment damp his ardour, it could not deter him. I shall find him yet. ’ ‘It’s no use blaming me, Gerald,’ uttered Roding, shrugging helplessly as his senior turned questioning eyes on him. The carpenter threw himself flat upon the starling to avoid the fury of the wind. I wish they would just get it over with. The Iron Bar 397 XVIII.
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