"That would be certain destruction. Melusine’s eyes blazed into his. And the woollen-draper departed. Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them. ‘Never fear, my love. I want to be your knight, your servant, your protector, your—I dare scarcely write the word—your husband. And pouring the contents of a small powderflask into a bumper of brandy, he tendered him the mixture. ‘Charvill?’ uttered Roding frowningly. This won’t do. Something unpardonable is laid to my charge. . Half an hour's labour, during which he was obliged more than once to pause to regain breath, sufficed to make a hole wide enough to allow a passage for his arm up to the elbow.
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