"To paint your portrait," answered the jailer. It was hot and dry. Hobson, the Phys. Had he found the secret door? Running to the centre, she tried to judge where the knocking came from. He was alone, hatless and without his boots, and he held a wicked-looking French-made duelling pistol, covered in silver and gold— property no doubt, was Melusine’s fleeting thought, of the late vicomte. It did not occur to her that save for some accidents of education and character they had souls like her own. As soon as the cavalcade stopped, the sexton advanced, and, ringing a handbell, pronounced the following admonition. “MY DEAR GIRL,— “I am so sorry if we made asses of ourselves to-night.
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