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"Not so, Sir Rowland," returned Jonathan; "you are my prisoner. "You who are condemned to die, repent with lamentable tears. The vestry was perhaps the only room in the place, except her allotted curtained off portion of the dormitory chamber that served for her cell—and she could not scandalise the nuns by having a man in there, be he never so much a servant—where Melusine could be sure of privacy. She herself, and one other there, recognized the interposition of something akin to tragedy. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. I have not found the secret way into the house, for instance. "Her blood be upon her own head, then," replied Rowland, sternly. ‘Well said, my dear.
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