“Are you speaking to me?” she asked calmly. The female’s words caught at his attention, and he no longer heard what the young Poussaint girl was saying to him. "Why, first," rejoined Austin, "there's Sir James Thornhill, historical painter to his Majesty, and the greatest artist of the day. Cathy stood in the bedroom hallway in her faded blue bathrobe. Wood's anxiety respecting the fugitive was speedily relieved by hearing another waterman busy himself in preparation for starting; and, shortly after, the dip of a second pair of oars sounded upon the river. “Yeah, I know. A young lad—Roding took him for a footman, or a groom by the neat black garb—was halted some paces away from Valade, his hat in his hand as he made pretence of fanning himself.
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