. Melusine turned and turned, unable to imagine just where the secret door could be. He drew her close up to him with a strong, steady pull. “But you must forgive me, John. "Don't look at it, I entreat," she cried. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. Nervously he pulled alongside the dilapidated oncewhite farmhouse. The primitive superstition of his Puritan forbears was his; and before this the buckler of his education disintegrated.
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