’ Triumph soared in Gerald’s chest. ” She assented gently. Where can we sit down and talk?” He led her across the room towards a window recess, in which a tall, fair young man was seated with an evening paper in his hand. Melusine did not attempt to speak. A native of Manchester, he was the son of Kenelm Kneebone, a staunch Catholic, and a sergeant of dragoons, who lost his legs and his life while fighting for James the Second at the battle of the Boyne, and who had little to bequeath his son except his laurels and his loyalty to the house of Stuart. “You could have a talk to Miss Kitty Brett this afternoon, if you liked. The wound lay open for five seconds, and then closed neatly as if it had been stitched by invisible hands. ” “Why not?” she asked quietly.
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