” “I have a clue, at any rate,” he remarked, smiling. But I liked to say it. He dodged the boot this time, and smashed his left upon the Wastrel's lips, leaving them bloody pulp. As he stood upon the bridge, he held down the light, and looked into the profound abyss. “Annabel!” He looked at her thoughtfully. The vestry was perhaps the only room in the place, except her allotted curtained off portion of the dormitory chamber that served for her cell—and she could not scandalise the nuns by having a man in there, be he never so much a servant—where Melusine could be sure of privacy. He picked up the broken fiddle and beckoned. The Wastrel did not relish this. CHAPTER IV. “I will wait for you on the pavement, if you like,” he said, “but I am going to the ‘Unusual’ with you. ‘Go on, Gerald.
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