But there was only Gosse, still struggling with the picture, looking dazedly towards Melusine and the lad he had shot, then away towards the sounds of pursuit, and back again. “We must go. She was clad in fresh linen, but still wore the riding-habit she had appropriated, having sponged out the spots of blood late last night and left it to dry in the kitchens. "Let him remain," interposed Trenchard. “I am glad,” she told herself, “I came. Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side.
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