“In Ellicottville?”
“No.”
“Well, then, in Holburton, where you were last summer. Didn’t you board with a Fleming?”
“You are right again. He lives in Holburton,” Everard replied, laughing immoderately at the idea of he as applied to Josephine.
Thus far he had answered all Rossie’s questions correctly, but when she said, “Tell me, please, his right name. Is it Joel, or Joseph, or what?” the old look of cunning leaped into his eyes, and he answered her:
“No, you don’t. Joe is enough for you to know. Besides, why are you questioning me so closely? What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to try and get you out of your trouble,” Rossie said, and starting up in bed, Everard exclaimed:
“Get me out of the scrape! Oh, Rossie, if you only would,—if you only could!”
“I can, I will!” Rossie said, emphatically, and he continued:
“Out of every single bit of it?—the whole thing, so I’ll be free again?”