" "At all events, let me send her away, my dear," supplicated the carpenter, anxious to avert the impending storm. Ousted from his old retreat, the Cross Shovels, Baptist Kettleby opened another tavern, conducted upon the same plan as the former, which he denominated the Seven Cities of Refuge. Standing before a mirror set on a dresser between the windows, two hands frozen in the act of adjusting a wide-brimmed hat on her head, stood a lady in a dark riding habit, her startled features turned towards the door. Such was the simple code that displayed itself in all his thoughts. At sight of his wan features, she forgot the urgency of her need for a moment, and fell to her knees at his bedside, placing her hands on his slack ones where they lay on the soiled coverlet. ‘Jacques?’ she called. It was a sovereign easily earned. They stood back together and stared at it. Unless he deserts the girl, he won't be so hard to find as formerly. ‘You don’t even know what it means, do you?’ Melusine frowned. "As circumstances shall dictate, Sir Rowland," returned Jonathan. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac.
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