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‘I trust you are cursing Valade, and not Melusine. She was a lone white woman, therefore marked. Never did I need a rescue so much. The first time, I overlooked the offence; but the second time, when I had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,—Wood, the carpenter of Wych Street,—he betrayed me. He was placed in a coach, handcuffed, and heavily fettered, and guarded by a vast posse of officers to Temple Bar, where a fresh relay of constables escorted him to Westminster. I saw someone in there whom I have always hoped that I should never meet again. It was now getting dusk, and he could only imperfectly distinguish the features and figure of the stranger. At other times he seemed to have regained the normal completely. The significance of the kiss was still obscure to her, though she had frequently encountered the word and act in the Old and New Testaments and latterly in novels. ’ ‘Not, I trust, Nicholas Charvill?’ ‘Hardly. Anyhow he confessed that he was a fraud.
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