“You are the Sir John Ferringhall who has bought the Lyndmore estate, are you not?” she remarked. ’ ‘Yes, that is reasonable,’ agreed Melusine, nodding. We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage. The pouting cherry lips were slightly parted and the very faintest of panting breaths, together with the quick rise and fall of an alluring bosom, betrayed her fear. —"As Rowland's whole crew perished in the tempest, and he only escaped by miracle, he fancied himself free from detection. "I'm sorry," she said.
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