We were to ransom you, then we would fake your death, play as if the kidnappers had executed you. Thames took it, and beheld the portrait of a young man, apparently—judging from his attire—of high rank, whose proud and patrician features certainly presented a very striking resemblance to his own. The thought allured him, and therein lay the danger. “But why, Lucy? Who is it 145 that you are trying to hide from? John?” Lucy closed her eyes in earnest. "But to the point," continued Wild, unconscious of the peril in which the remark had placed him,—"to the point. For the face under her gaze she could find but one expression—fine. The parlour was cluttered but cosy.
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