’ Melusine could not regard this view with anything but scepticism. Arrived at the audience-chamber, he set down the light upon a stand, threw open the door, and announced in a loud voice, but with the perfect intonation of the person he represented,—"Sir Rowland Trenchard. "The poor things!" The manager laughed. Not a word was uttered for some time, nor any sound heard except the stilled sobs of the unfortunate mother. The unpleasant oily chill of fever overtook her body, and she watched in horror as Sebastian carried her to his bed on his shoulder like a sack of flour.
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