The fellow swore lustily, in a voice which Jack instantly recognised as that of Quilt Arnold, and vainly attempted to rise and draw his sword. Ann Veronica’s tense nerves started, and she stood still with her eyes upon him, wondering what it might be that impended. Her companion was a portly handsome man, also dressed in a full suit of the deepest mourning, with the finest of lace at his bosom and wrists, and a sword in a black sheath by his side. The law would accord her all her previous rights: she would return to the exact status out of which in his madness he had taken her.
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