“Which is Mr. "To paint your portrait," answered the jailer. Looking sullen, he released the handle and sat back. ’ Gerald did not speak, but there was a look in his face that made Melusine glad she had at last had the courage to confide in him. He got out in much the same way from the Gatehouse,—stole the keys, and passed through a room where I was sitting half-asleep in a chair. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere.
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