"I am Owen Wood, at your service. What does she look like?’ ‘Black hair. You get the idea. Upon my word—you are Miss Pellissier, aren’t you?” “I certainly am,” she admitted. As in a dream, Melusine saw her faithful footman struck, his headlong progress checked. “Like what, Lucy?” She saw the panic threaten to overtake him. I came to London to look for you, and somehow the figure I saw in my dreams had got mixed up with you. ” He woke the glassy water to swirling activity again, and made the deep-blue shapes below writhe and shiver. He stepped quickly towards her. But she was not to be tempted. To walk beside him, dressed akin to him, rucksacked and companionable, was bliss in itself; each step she took was like stepping once more across the threshold of heaven. “Don’t!” she said, weakly, as he had bent down and put one arm about her and seized her hands with his disengaged hand and kissed her—kissed her almost upon her lips. “I’ll be hanged if I do. She liked the animated eagerness of his manner. That is quite as far as I mean to tempt Providence to-night.
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