‘Why?’ ‘Why take me to France? Why trouble himself with me, when so easily he could leave me to this Monsieur Remenham to keep?’ To Melusine’s instant suspicion, Martha bit her lip, drew a breath, and avoided her charge’s gaze. Swiftly she ran her hands over the carvings, trying to find the lever to the secret panel again. She had, by the magic of recollection, set the picture of the typhoon between herself and her table companions: the terrible rollers thundering on the white shore, the deafening bellow of the wind, the bending and snapping palms, the thatches of the native huts scattering inland, the blur of sand dust, and those two outcasts defying the elements. "Now—begin. "At all hazards then then you shall know the truth," replied the woollen-draper, in a tone of affected solicitude,—"but are you really prepared?" "Quite—quite!" replied Winifred.
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