It was locked. She would not sleep for fear of losing a moment of that sense of his proximity. She would always be waiting upon this boy, he mused. Gay, by his strokes of pleasantry, whether in his writings or conversation, never lost a friend. There was some justification for her annoyance, for negotiation of the secret passage demanded either a stout heart, or a desperate one. He was a young man of about two-and-twenty, who, without having anything remarkable either in dress or appearance, was yet a noticeable person, if only for the indescribable expression of cunning pervading his countenance.
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