The uproar was tremendous—men yelling— dogs barking,—but above all was heard the stentorian voice of Jonathan, urging them on. Ramage leaned over the gate at Ann Veronica’s side, and for a moment there was silence. A cool gray light illuminated small portions of the stone floor. At length the task was done, and she jabbed the needle into a cushion, folded the coat, and rose. The books would be soaked and ruined in the rain anyway through the thin skin of the pack. If she could not marry him, she would not marry any one. By and by—as the paroxysm subsided and he became motionless—she stole back to the bungalow to wait.
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