’ ‘Gad, there is someone there,’ exclaimed Hilary beside him, shading his eyes with one hand. Apparently he had projected beyond his table some hypnotic thought, for it had held him all through the dining hour. He had offered to escort the young lady to England where she might seek refuge with her relations there, and proposed that the maid Yolande might serve Miss Charvill. Melusine ripped strips off her under-petticoats and fashioned a pad, which she bandaged as tightly as she could over the wound, working swiftly, unperturbed by the gore. Because here was the haven for which she had been blindly groping: the positive abolition of all her father's rights in her—the right to drag her back. The arrival of the cart at the end of Field Lane, appeared the signal for an attempt at rescue.
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