“Your sex is a terrible fraud. The assassination, as you call it, was, obviously, the vengeance of a kinsman of the injured lady, who no doubt was of good family, upon her seducer. Standing before a mirror set on a dresser between the windows, two hands frozen in the act of adjusting a wide-brimmed hat on her head, stood a lady in a dark riding habit, her startled features turned towards the door. It seems to me just talk; it seems to me like the fancy of a dream. Ben watched these manoeuvres with great interest, and strained every sinew in his frame to keep ahead of the other boats.
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