Perhaps you will explain the state of panic into which I seem to have thrown you. ‘Why?’ Melusine eyed him dubiously. Satisfied, as he thought, that he had nothing to apprehend, the boy resumed his task, chanting, as he plied his knife with redoubled assiduity, the following—not inappropriate strains:— THE NEWGATE STONE. ‘By traitors I am surrounded!’ ‘Stop talking utter twaddle,’ ordered Roding, marching up to the desk. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘You have papers of identity, for the Mother Abbess told me so. But Gerald kept to a casual note. She would not sleep for fear of losing a moment of that sense of his proximity. ‘The more I hear about this Leonardo,’ Lucy said severely, ‘the more I want to meet your Melusine. He smiled inwardly.
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