Spurlock looked up. One studies Nature in order not to be blindly ruled by her. The air was sharp and bracing, and the leaves which had taken their autumnal tints were falling from the trees. Gosse backed, not even attempting to parry so unorthodox a use of the foil. There was a concerted gasp of shock from both the black-garbed lad and the coachman. He opened his eyes, protestingly, and beheld the realization of his dream. He would take with him that traitress Yolande, and claim to the lawyer that this was Melusine Charvill. Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn. The man muttered something inaudible, and gathered up the reins. You tonic my liver and you tonic my soul. Meet me. Until two hours ago she was as contented and as happy as a linnet.
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