Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. Melusine’s eyes shifted. He smiled grandly; she could feel the radiance of his approval from across the wedding table. Next instant, Gerald felt his wrist seized in an iron grip. Presently, two carriages dashed down the hill, and drew up before it. The assassination, as you call it, was, obviously, the vengeance of a kinsman of the injured lady, who no doubt was of good family, upon her seducer. “I have no wish,” he said, “to altogether ignore the fact that you are my wife’s sister, and have therefore a certain claim upon me. . “I’m five years older than you, and no end wiser, being a man. This vessel is now in the river, off Wapping.
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