She got up, drew up her blind, and stared out of window at a dawn-cold vision of chimneys for a time, and then went and sat on the edge of her bed. It would hurt no one. “That is my dream of you,” said Manning, warming. ’ ‘What matters it?’ cried Melusine impatiently. And mind, your life,—more than your life—hangs upon your choice. Who is the beautiful intruder? And why does she disguise herself as a nun? Why is she involved in an enterprise both foolhardy and dangerous? The girl’s accent suggests an émigré but Mademoiselle insists she is English. Sydney Courtlaw—Mr.
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