’ ‘Very well, Melusine, you win,’ Gerald said unguardedly, and dug his hand into his pocket. The knight and his followers crossed the threshold, leaving one of the torch-bearers behind them. “You’re. The night had swallowed him up, but his work on her was done. I am quite sure that I do not know you. He glanced out of the window, looked back at the major and grasped the handle of the door. He then barred and double-locked the door, took out the key, (a precautionary measure which, with a grim smile, he said he never omitted,) thrust it into his vest, and motioning the couple to follow him, led the way to the inner room. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. Shocked, Melusine shot out of that blanketing warmth of sensation. .
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