We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage. Melusine soon found herself seated at a table, with a dirty piece of paper in front of her, and a badly mended pen between her fingers. Her fingers rested upon his. There had been disappointments and humiliations, and although she hated to admit it even to herself, she was in desperate straits. Every window, from the groundfloor to the garret had its occupant, and the roofs were covered with spectators. "What shall I say? Shall I tell you, or shall I leave you in the dark—as I must always leave her? What shall I say except that I am accursed of men? Yes; I have loved something—her mother.
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