She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. The prisoner breathed with difficulty. Ten thousand steeds appeared to be trampling aloft, charged with the work of devastation. " "But how in the Lord's name was she brought up? There's a queer story back of this somewhere. " "I will take you. Perhaps it had been pick-pocketed or jostled from her dress in a hunt. " "I don't see how this is to be effected, unless you yourself were present at the time," said Wood, glancing suspiciously at the speaker. She almost sprang to her feet.
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