“You must leave me your address if you please,” he said, as she rose to go. She went across to the little window again, her back to Melusine. “You are afraid,” she said, “that the young man who thinks that he is my husband has upset me. At length, about an hour before dawn on the second day—Sunday—having spent the early part of the night in watching at the gates of the robbers' sanctuary, and being almost exhausted from want of rest, she set out homewards. Wood could not avoid making a slight shuffling sound. Elegant, a little scornful, she leaned slightly against the back of a chair and looked him steadily in the eyes. But "fine" is the word. She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping.
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