The pistol, it was not loaded. It was a moment or two before Gerald realised that he could feel the fluttering of her pulse beneath the light touch he had on her wrist, and that her fingers were trembling in his. "Tom! Hey, Tom!" The Chinese cook thrust his head into the dining room. He was standing by, rating her ladyship,—who can scarcely stir from the sofa,—while I was packing up her jewels in the case, and I observed that she tried to hide a small casket from him. My trouble is with your sister. ‘Doesn’t she, Gerald?’ Gerald held up his hands.
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