’ Triumph leapt in Gerald’s chest. Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. At the back of the house, on a bank, rose an old-fashioned terrace-garden, full of apple-trees and other fruittrees in blossom, and lively with the delicious verdure of early spring. “You found the flat easily?” said Capes in the pause. At length, at the end of a passage, next to the cell where Mrs. Jack is registered in the Black Book. I’ll announce myself. “I trust you altogether.
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