Her gratitude swelled within her. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. ‘Do not beg his pardon,’ intervened Melusine quickly, coming between them. " "It'll be over in a few minutes," rejoined Jonathan, impatiently; "in fact, it'll be over too soon for me. ‘Deaf? Deaf? I’ll have you know, miss—’ ‘Do not have me know anything,’ interrupted Melusine crossly, and digging into her habit, produced the fateful dagger that had cut Gerald’s hand. " "You'll dance upon nothing, presently," rejoined Jonathan, brutally.
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