The Chinamen raised the limp body and carried it to the hall staircase, up which they mounted laboriously. "To paint your portrait," answered the jailer. The chamber, into which he stole, like all carpenters' workshops, was crowded with the implements and materials of that ancient and honourable art. The man pulled up his horse grumbling, and turned round. All the same, I don’t admit it. The girl who had just left the room was as great a mystery to him now as on the afternoon when he had met her in Piccadilly and taken her to tea. "Before either of you go, you will ask my permission," said Jonathan, coolly.
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