“Anna,” he cried eagerly. As his eyes adjusted, he was able to make out the great shrouded shapes of the furniture. Her head felt absurdly like one of those noddling manikins in the Hong-Kong curio-shops. . . Her heart was beating with quite unaccustomed vigour, her hands were hot, she was conscious of a warmth in her blood which the summer sunshine was scarcely responsible for. But he looked back into the hall and spoke to the sergeant who could just be seen behind him. ’ ‘The horse?’ echoed Melusine. So, bloody but unbeaten, weak and spent but undaunted, he waited for the Wastrel to spring up. To-night all this may seem hard and cruel.
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