“Do you think he’s still around?” She paused thoughtfully. Through fire and water, through penury and pestilence, your hand will always be on his shoulder. She felt the softest touch caress her cheek, and a wave of tenderness engulfed Melusine. She could not say a word, much less move. They thought that she was her own mother. No sooner had Trenchard crossed the threshold than a fierce barking was heard at the farther extremity of the passage, and, the next moment, a couple of mastiffs of the largest size rushed furiously towards him. Then he sat down and filled his pipe slowly and thoughtfully. “It is unimportant,” she said. But not a word to him of Lady Trafford's absence—mind that.
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