At length, about three o'clock, as the first glimmer of dawn became visible through the barred casements of the round-house, the rattling of bolts and chains at the outer door told that some one was admitted. “Before I met you I was deluded into receiving upon friendly terms a man named Hill, who passed himself off as Meysey Hill the railway man, but who was in reality an Englishman in poor circumstances. The world isn't real yet; she hasn't comparisons by which to govern her acts. "Fear nothing, Sir," said the man, in a voice which Thames instantly recognised as that of Blueskin. This is a case either of suicide or murder. The dog was, in a sense, a gift of the gods. She reached a tiny yellow-fronted cottage covered with flowering creepers, and entered the front room by the wide-open window. But I shan’t try to stop you. CHAPTER X.
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