The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. ’ ‘I thought you were dead,’ Melusine confided. Of Jack Sheppard or the assailants they could not discover a single trace. The air might be cool, but half an hour without head-gear was an invitation to sunstroke. That added to his puzzle. “We are the species,” said Miss Miniver, “men are only incidents. Well, that’s the situation. 1 through 1.
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