‘No sense in snooping about down here,’ Gerald whispered. “Here’s something rather good,” he said, and with a start and an effort she took his place at the microscope, while he stood beside her and almost leaning over her. He hesitated for a moment and then he followed her. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. “I’m sorry! Mary! Are you hurt?” “No. Where is your hat?’ ‘Parbleu, is this a way to rescue me?’ Melusine demanded, digging in her heels and wrenching her arm out of his hold. "This locket," he said, taking a little ornament attached to a black ribband from his breast, and giving it her,—"do you remember it?" "I do—I do!" cried Winifred. It was a brief solitude, however. "I'd rather you went over the last four chapters, which I haven't polished yet.
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