If hate could kill, Ramage would have been killed by a flash of hate. She was standing before a window, against the background of the rain-burdened April sky. "Buck up! While there's life there's hope. I make no apology for not being with you now. The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes. Beneath the hood it was evident that her rebellious hair was bound up with red silk, and fastened by some device in her ears (unless she had them pierced, which was too dreadful a thing to suppose!) were long brass filigree earrings. ‘The secret passage!’ It did not take long to find the mechanism of the candlesconce that opened the door.
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