A wave of pity went over him—pity for the patient, the girl, and his friend. Glancing around his prison, he began to think it possible he might effect an escape from it. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. This child was frequently disconcerting. ‘Where did you get that, miss?’ ‘It is the sword of monsieur le major. Morgan the trader did not haggle over the pearls, but gave me at once what he judged a fair price.
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