‘Not where we’re going. "Certainly not," replied Gay. Once again, he passed his hand over the surface and carefully noted all the obstacles. "Here I am, Captain," cried a voice from without. Let me only wear your livery. " CHAPTER XIX. " "Perhaps I read of it somewhere. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. The funeral procession had now approached the grave, around which many of the congregation, who were deeply interested by the sad ceremonial, had gathered. He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his threecornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips. Spurling, half aside. He was bewildered.
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