Drink this!” He poured out a glass of wine with a firm hand, and held it to her lips. Danger, in the form he apprehended, was lurking outside: nor was he destined to enjoy long repose. “Go to London,” said Ann Veronica. “Why—it’s—it’s you!” Amazement seemed to dry up the torrents of his speech. He rang the doorbell, even though she had already cracked the door for him. Melusine ripped strips off her under-petticoats and fashioned a pad, which she bandaged as tightly as she could over the wound, working swiftly, unperturbed by the gore.
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