Each became frightfully aware of the other as a plastic energetic body, of the strong muscles of neck against cheek, of hands gripping shoulder-blade and waist. Left to himself, he took a survey of the room, and his heart leaped as he beheld over the, chimney-piece, a portrait of himself. ‘Why don’t you?’ Melusine frowned at him, grasping the dagger more firmly. Why not? Were not his own sentiments inclined in favour of the patient? But fifty gold was fifty gold. She was not Madame Melusine Valade. He hesitated. Uttering a faint scream, she sank backwards, and would have fallen, if it had not been for the interposition of Blueskin, who, at that moment, staggered into the room with a candle in one hand, and the bottle in the other. . He was in a position to help her. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. ’ ‘I do not lie to you now,’ she said, near frantic at the thought of losing him.
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