” “And leave you here alone?” he asked, in a hoarse whisper. ” “Well?” “Sir John came to me—that you know—and you can guess what I told him. ‘Melusine, if you don’t let go my hand—’ He broke off as she dragged a pocket handkerchief from her sleeve. His face clouded with anger. “I love this warm end of summer more than words can tell,” he said. Meanwhile, the executioner had attached strong cords to his ankles and wrists, and fastened them tightly to the iron rings. I give you the plain, unadulterated truth. ‘Don’t dare call her that to my face.
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