She got up, drew up her blind, and stared out of window at a dawn-cold vision of chimneys for a time, and then went and sat on the edge of her bed. He made a note of the idea and stored it away. She has no proof—yet. Presently he heard her voice. Not conceiving that his sister—feeble as she was, and yielding as she had ever shown herself to his wishes, whether expressed or implied—would depart without consulting him, he was equally surprised and enraged to hear the servants busied in transporting her to the carriage. But this might be merely a figurative mode of describing his customary vigilance. Then he released her hand, and sat back a little, appearing to concentrate his thoughts on her face. Between the two officers, with their arms linked in his, Jack Sheppard was conducted to the cart. His voice had changed, the joy had gone out of it; and she understood that something from the past had rolled up to spoil this hour. I wonder.
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