My sister was scarcely likely to make a mistake. ” “Well, you can’t say you’re a failure there,” Lady Lescelles remarked, smiling. He flung himself backwards, hit the dais and fell heavily before the altar, losing his low-crowned beaver. Standing before a mirror set on a dresser between the windows, two hands frozen in the act of adjusting a wide-brimmed hat on her head, stood a lady in a dark riding habit, her startled features turned towards the door. . . It was just then that she came face to face with Nigel Ennison. Jonathan aimed a blow at him, which, if it had taken place, must have instantly terminated the strife; but, avoiding this, he sprang at the thief-taker, and grappled with him.
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