Her neck was smeared with red and remorse flooded him. “Martin, I don’t know what to say. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. Several of the assailants carried links, so that the room was a blaze of light. You have taken upon your shoulders the burden of her misdeeds. It shall be done as you direct. “No,” she said at last; “I’m a human being—not a timid female. ‘How do you do, my lord? I am Lucilla Froxfield.
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