‘A spitfire, ain’t she, sir?’ Roding ignored this. Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her. “Your name, I believe, is——” “Pellissier,” Anna answered. To-morrow night —or rather to-night, for we are fast verging on another day—I propose to lure him out of the house by a stratagem which I am sure will prove infallible; and, then, what so easy as to knock him on the head. CHAPTER XX. "Before either of you go, you will ask my permission," said Jonathan, coolly.
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