"To-night it is their turn," said Jonathan, binding up his wounded fingers with a handkerchief. She dropped the manuscripts and swiftly brought the coat to him, noting that a button hung loose. ‘You did not find Gosse, that is seen, but—’ ‘Gosse? Gosse? Who’s this here Gosse then?’ ‘He is the Frenchman of whom I told you. "Sir Rowland," he added, savagely, and with somewhat of the look of a bull-dog before he flies at his foe, "if it were my pleasure to do so, I could crush you with a breath.
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