His heart was beating, but faintly and slowly, with ominous intermissions. “He knows. “In fact, yes, I do. Leastways, she’d be your greataunt, wouldn’t she?’ Astounded, Melusine was just about to demand further information, when a commotion outside the room interrupted her. Wood, in his Sunday habiliments and Sunday buckle. She pulled his shirt from its tucked belted state and snaked her hands around his waist. ‘Do you mean to tell me,’ enquired the captain at length, ‘that you have had the infernal audacity, the—the gall, the—the— Gad, it’s an outrage! You’ve stolen a horse from a priest?’ ‘I did not steal it,’ protested Melusine hotly. ‘You are wise, Marthe.
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