"I cannot—dare not injure him," rejoined Trenchard, with a haggard look, and sinking, as if paralysed, into a chair. She had recourse to the torn off strip of petticoat again, and blowing her nose with an air of determination, sniffed back the tears. ‘You cannot read my mind at all, monsieur. ‘At me,’ she uttered, holding her own pistol high and aiming it steadily. “A serious question. Immediately beneath her lay Willesden,—the most charming and secluded village in the neighbourhood of the metropolis—with its scattered farm-houses, its noble granges, and its old grey church-tower just peeping above a grove of rook-haunted trees. “What do you think of that farce?” he exclaimed bitterly. Poor soul! she nearly died when she heard he had robbed his master; and it might have been well if she had done so, for she never afterwards recovered her reason. Rebellious and resentful, Melusine decided there and then that she would do exactly that, come what may.
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