‘You cannot mean General Charvill?’ ‘That old martinet?’ exclaimed Roding. With the broken links of the chain, which served him in lieu of more efficient implements, he commenced operations just above the chimney-piece, and soon contrived to pick a hole in the plaster. The pouting cherry lips were slightly parted and the very faintest of panting breaths, together with the quick rise and fall of an alluring bosom, betrayed her fear. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. .
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