"And now, mark me. His name is John. Ennison seemed to feel already the shadow of tragedy approaching. He fancied that the turnkeys had discovered his flight and were in pursuit of him,—that they had climbed up the chimney,—entered the Red Room,— tracked him from door to door, and were now only detained by the gate which he had left unbroken in the chapel. I have it on my conscience that I offended you—” “Offended me when?” “I’ve been haunted by the memory of you. For the sort of love-making you think about. Fritz sang for her sometimes, for Fritz could sing even before he was able to form words. ” “Sounds interesting,” Ennison remarked. Montague Hill. That did not sound like the name the young man had offered in the tower of the water-clock.
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