Lucy crouched by the side of the grave, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth. At the thought of the major, her tears redoubled and she was obliged to rip off a piece from the remnants of her already maltreated underpetticoats with which to blow her nose and soak the damp from her cheeks. He was not, it seemed, the proper stipendiary at all, and there had been some demur to his jurisdiction that had ruffled him. Twenty guineas, mind. But she did not in the least want to do that. ‘Here she is. "A friend," replied Jonathan, uncocking the pistol, and placing it in his pocket. At the back of her mind, Melusine noted an odd look in the boy’s face, but there was no time to explore it.
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