Melusine had confessed this morning, that she had borrowed his horse, that Jack had met with his accident through her fault. ‘I have told you that I am entirely English. ’ ‘It is so in a convent, you see,’ she explained airily. ‘You do not dare look in my clothes. Will you find your destiny, I wonder, or will you go through life like so many others—a wanderer, knocking ever at empty doors, homeless to the last? Oh, if one could but find the way to your heart. From time to time she would come upon a line of singular beauty or a paragraph full of haunting music; and these would send her rushing on for something that never happened.
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