Sheppard, as a storm of furious voices resounded from below, and torches were seen mounting the stairs; "they are coming!—they are coming!—fly!—to the roof! to the roof. The glance, which he threw at the door, was singularly expressive of his character: it was a mixture of alarm, effrontery, and resolution. ‘What do you mean?’ Gerald grinned. She did not want to seem to shrink from conversation, but all sorts of odd questions were running through her mind. I’m not a lovesick boy. Majorities, right or wrong, dare not revolt.
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