Stories … love stories: and to-morrow she would know the joy of reading them! It was almost unbelievable; it was too good to be true. “I have always,” she admitted calmly, “taken a certain amount of interest in Annabel’s future. “But your sister,” he said. Fear nothing. Swiftly he looked back to Melusine and found she had whisked to the window, dragging a pocket handkerchief from her sleeve and hastily blowing her nose. Cautioning the knight, if he valued his neck, to tread carefully, Jonathan then descended a steep flight of steps; and, having reached the bottom in safety, he pushed open a door, that swung back on its hinges as soon as it had admitted him; and, followed by Trenchard, entered the night-cellar. You know, Melusine. “Anna,” she cried, “you must believe me.
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