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” Mrs. ” She instructed him. . He was ill at ease, though he would not have confessed his disquietude even to himself. She tried to compose her thoughts, to think of the last six months, to steep herself in the calm beauty of the surroundings. She perceived that his countenance was only composed by a great effort, his features severely compressed. If she kept on, would she make it out of the door? Then what? He could come after her before she could reach the secret passage. “Hainault, Celeste’s friend. Sheppard,—"pray let me go. His back was no sooner turned, than she slipped this casket into the box.
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