Whence she came,—who she was,—and what she wanted,—were questions which naturally suggested themselves to Blueskin, and he was about to seek for some explanation, when his curiosity was checked by a gesture of silence from the lady. His fingers cherished the hilt of his sword and his eyes were on his friend and superior, ready at his back to do whatever was needed. He was painfully in earnest, too. Why shouldn’t we be martyrs? There’s nothing else for most of us, anyhow. Mrs. “Be so good as to stand away from that door at once, sir,” Brendon ordered.
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