Well, I told aunt. Spurling, who wished to protract the discovery of the escape as long as possible. ‘You would say that already then you love me?’ His glance was a caress and Melusine’s resolve weakened. At length, about three o'clock, as the first glimmer of dawn became visible through the barred casements of the round-house, the rattling of bolts and chains at the outer door told that some one was admitted. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure.
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