Never again would he repeat that kiss; but at night when they separated, he would touch her forehead with his lips, and sometimes he would hold her hand in his and pat it. But, whether she likes it or not, I aim to be on hand to get her out of it. "Was that thunder?" he faltered, as a terrible clap was heard overhead. Something softened in Melusine’s chest. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. The Iron Bar.
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