“I am going to ask for your forgiveness. . . “Not to-night,” she said. Melusine sighed with relief at being alone at last and free to resume her search among the portraits. Somewhere in the world there was a book clerk with a discerning mind; for he had given her the best he had. He fancied that the whole fabric of the bridge was cracking over head,—that the arch was tumbling upon him,—that the torrent was swelling around him, whirling him off, and about to bury him in the deafening abyss. She stared at him and thought the words, “My husband, my husband. He is in the care of those who will not leave the task assigned to them—the utter perversion of his principles—half-finished. While I am talking about your friends, I feel—I think you ought to know how I look at it. I just wanted a breath of air. And, dragging Mrs. . " Spurlock smiled at the doctor. With the immediate necessities in train, Melusine fell to brooding on her situation, which she found insupportable.
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