From a scout stationed at the northern entrance, whom she addressed in the jargon of the place, with which long usage had formerly rendered her familiar, she ascertained that Blueskin, accompanied by a youth, whom she knew by the description must be her son, had arrived there about three hours before, and had proceeded to the Cross Shovels. She felt this was the sensible way out of this oddly sinister situation. He—he has rather a poor opinion of his contemporaries. “If I thought for a moment that there was any chance of a relapse, I should stop here and tell him the truth even now. ‘Parbleu, how you make me talk!’ ‘Your secret is safe with me, I promise you,’ Gerald said reassuringly. Too damned chickenhearted to confess to me he’d run off with the woman.
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