’ Grasping the lantern, and heedless now of the discomforts of the passage, Melusine flew like the wind back towards the library, the vision of Jack Kimble’s white face driving her on. He led her unerringly, pushing her down the narrow stairway that had been the servants’ access to the upper floors, and thence through a small door that led into the chapel. She could see over a waist high stone wall into the miniature courtyard, complete with benches only a small child could sit upon, one which had been broken in half, its two pieces left unjoined on the sandy ground. ’ ‘Fancy my old pa thinking you was a French spy. And I am coming to believe the best as well as the most beautiful friends a man can have are girl friends. Are you going to write a novel?” “Not I,” she answered gaily. A dozen words, and he saw Enschede as clearly as though he stood hard by in the flesh.
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