"What poet was that?" "Stevenson. A momentary petrifaction, and terror had lent wings to her feet. “Well,” he said slowly, “I had met you three times—before Drummond’s dinner. The day before this examination was appointed to take place—the third of the prisoner's detention—an old man, respectably dressed, requested permission to see him. The air, perfumed with the delicious fragrance of the new-mown grass, was vocal with the melodies of the birds; the thick foliage of the trees was glistening in the sunshine; all nature seemed happy and rejoicing; but, above all, the serene Sabbath stillness reigning around communicated a calm to her wounded spirit. At least—’ ‘Don’t be more of a lunatic than you can help,’ broke in the captain, addressing himself to Melusine. “I ought to look up Gwen,” she said. ’ Her lashes fluttered.
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