While they were thus occupied, a maid-servant entered the room, and stated that a person was without who had a packet for Captain Darrell, which must be delivered into his own hands. He screamed in pain, doubling over with a howl as she stumbled out of the bed. His letter of credit; probably that was it; and, observing the strangeness of the room he was in, his first concern on returning to consciousness would naturally relate to his letter of credit. “You hear him?” he remarked, looking impressively around. Next instant he had her immobilised, her hands behind her back, her chest crushed to his, the white veil slipping once again. And they had an idea of what men were like behind all their nicety.
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