Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. A moment before, the surface of the stream was black as ink. ’ ‘You, perhaps?’ she flung at him furiously, stepping out from behind the desk. There lay upon this stand a book bound in limp black leather—the Holy Bible. Do you know, Ann Veronica, it is all a lie about your birth certificate; a forgery—and fooling at that. ’ Gosse’s eyes went to the portrait, and evidently took in the uncanny resemblance, looking from it to Melusine and back again. Phillips Oppenheim AUTHOR OF “THE SECRET”, “THE TRAITORS”, ETC. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him.
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