It is Thérèse. I'll have a peep at him, if I die for it," she muttered, as she went out. And Gerald— Melusine swallowed on an unaccountable lump in her throat. "Are you a poltroon, after all?" "That's it! I ought to have died that night!" "Or is there a taint of insanity in your family history? Alone and practically penniless like yourself! You weren't even stirred by gratitude. I heard John was talking about you again from Jenny McIntyre. His horse, which had apparently gone to sleep, preferred to remain where he was.
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