" "I'd rather lie here for ever, than be indebted to you for my freedom," returned Thames. For two years he thought himself secure; and, secretly engaged in the Jacobite schemes of the time, in which, also, Sir Cecil was deeply involved, he began to relax in his watchfulness over Aliva. He could not tell by the look of her whether she was glad or sorry that presently she would be free. It wasn’t. She had found a couple of articles about him over the years, blurbs about the opening of a theater that mentioned him. She addressed her letters, meditated on them for a time, and then took them out and posted them. Her usual dignified reserve had availed her nothing. Man or woman. In some cases they were ground almost to powder; in others, driven deeply into the earth, as if discharged from a piece of ordnance. "So you're writing under a nom de plume, eh?" said McClintock, holding out the letter.
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