But she found an unknown lady’s discarded garments, and selected some of those that she tried on, sending Kimble off down the secret passage to load them onto the horse she had borrowed—unbeknownst to its owner—from Father Saint-Simon. Ten thousand steeds appeared to be trampling aloft, charged with the work of devastation. This island was the one haven he had; he might be forced to remain here for several years—until the Hand had forgotten him. Darting down Field-lane, Jack struck into a labyrinth of streets on the left; but though he ran as swiftly as he could, he was not unperceived. "How so?" asked Wild, curiously. " "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard. He felt her observance and warmed to it.
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