’ ‘You traitor, Gerald,’ laughed Lucilla, her yellow curls bouncing under a huge straw bonnet all over flowers. Sheppard had been interred. Bullding repeated, rather struck with the phrase. Petrified and speechless, he turned an imploring look at Wild, who was himself filled with astonishment at the pile of rubbish lying before him. ’ ‘Glad you’re so sanguine,’ interrupted Captain Roding. She turned back to Gerald, holding out her hand. “Your father is dead too, I believe,” he continued, “and your mother. Only first you must find the lantern and light it again and leave it here, near the door, for me to find. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill.
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