Beyond the steps was a pole-chair in readiness. By chance I went to one who had known you in Paris. He was a Wiltshire Edmondshaw, a very old family. “I promise, Lucy. Passing at a glance over the whole of the intervening period; leaving in the words of the poet, —The growth untried Of that wide gap— we shall resume our narrative at the beginning of June, 1715. ‘Ah, bah, it is enough,’ she cried, and turning, ran out of the room. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. Mr. He heard Melusine cry out, but his attention was all for the nick he had made in her neck. “We don’t let to ladies,” they said.
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