The foremost, tall, clean-shaven, perfectly groomed, half extended his hand with a smile of recognition. But just as they were about to place him on the ground, he burst from their hold, and made a desperate spring at Jonathan, who was standing with his arms folded near the door watching the scene. The waterman sheltered his mouth with his hand while he spoke, or his voice would have been carried away by the violence of the blast. Vorsack echoed him. For the face under her gaze she could find but one expression—fine. Having no means of defence, Sir Rowland cleared the blood from his vision; and, turning to see whether there was any means of escape, he descried the open door behind him leading to the Well Hole, and instantly darted through it. “That was a moment of madness,” she said.
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