"They imagine their work is done. Wood was unable to discover the figure of the widow, but he recognised her dry, hacking cough, and was about to call her down, if she could not find the key, as he imagined must be the case, when a loud noise was heard, as though a chest, or some weighty substance, had fallen upon the floor. He moved, after quiet intervals, with a quick little movement, and ever and again stroked his small mustache and coughed a selfconscious cough. There is light enough from the sun,’ she said, relieved. I had no idea. Who? Could it be Gerald? Quickly, she looked back at Gosse’s face, and found him frowning. Old saltwater was right. ‘Grace à vous, I am compelled to rescue myself.
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