Melusine got to her feet and, tucking her shoulder under his arm on the uninjured side, put her arm about him to hold his waist, and thus contrived to take most of his weight. From head to foot he was attired in the fashionable garb of the young man of the moment. "His life—or yours?" "No one shall harm you more, my dear," cried Lady Trafford. " "You have no son," rejoined Sir Rowland, moodily. “I heard the other day that she’d been taken in by some cad of a fellow who was cutting a great dash in Paris, personating Meysey Hill, the great railway man. I have always been lonely. Washed in light from the vestry window, she held her ground, all thought at bay, bar the steel determination long ago instilled in her by her unconventional tutor.
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