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"'Sdeath! do you trifle with me, sirrah?" cried Rowland fiercely. I thought Mr. His vision was becoming accustomed to the faint light now and her features were clearer. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. . "This gash," he added, pointing to one of the larger scars, "was a wipe from the hanger of Tom Thurland, whom I apprehended for the murder of Mrs. . ’ Melusine swung away and moved to stare dully out of the window of the little chapel vestry onto the mews outside.

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