CHAPTER XXVIII. He led her unerringly, pushing her down the narrow stairway that had been the servants’ access to the upper floors, and thence through a small door that led into the chapel. The plank hung over his head. ‘No, my poor guardian,’ Gerald mocked. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. He did not leave much of an 17 impression. The clanking of chains, the grating of locks, and the rumbling of bolts must have been music in Jonathan's ears, so much pains did he take to subject himself to such sounds. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works unless you comply with paragraph 1. Immediately after it, he was off again, and that, let me tell you, was the last anyone saw of him.
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