" "I am not unprotected," rejoined the poor woman; "there's some one at the window. And when Mr. Wood. “You did your best to kill me,” he said. I have it about me. ” They went on for a time without another word. Ramage came for her at her lodgings, and she met him graciously and kindly as a queen who knows she must needs give sorrow to a faithful liege. She had first picked up the fiddle back when it was still called a viol, that was how long she had been at it. She had time in the afternoons to do crewelwork and embroidery, no longer occupied by the constant spinning of wool.
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