She was weeping now. CHAPTER VIII. ‘Mad as hatters!’ ‘It is you who is mad,’ mademoiselle told him crossly. Gerald’s thoughts raced as he reached out supporting hands and murmured meaningless phrases to soothe. They used the rope—not that a rope was at all necessary, but because Ann Veronica’s exalted state of mind made the fact of the rope agreeably symbolical; and, anyhow, it did insure a joint death in the event of some remotely possibly mischance. Shortly to be executed. Yes; she had heard the music the night before. He nodded silently, too full for words. His throat filled; he wanted to weep.
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