“He took my arms and legs!” She lifted the rock from Rhea’s torso. Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief. She laughed as the deluge seemed to grow worse with every step. A man might be without relatives, but certainly he would not be without friends, that is to say, without letters. At last the panel swung back into the library. It was 1582. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. Poor soul! she nearly died when she heard he had robbed his master; and it might have been well if she had done so, for she never afterwards recovered her reason. The coach was slowing down, and he realised that they had arrived in Golden Square. But that possibility had been anticipated.
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