The easel and palette having been packed up, and the canvass carefully removed by Austin, the party took leave of the prisoner, who was so much abstracted that he scarcely noticed their departure. It seemed incredible that she and her aunt were, indeed, creatures of the same blood, only by a birth or so different beings, and part of that same broad interlacing stream of human life that has invented the fauns and nymphs, Astarte, Aphrodite, Freya, and all the twining beauty of the gods. She pulled the door so that it was not quite to, and held out her hand, palm up. In a voice husky with suppressed despair, she answered. She waited a few minutes, then greeted the burly doorman who stood as the building’s lone sentry. He tried to raise an outcry, but his throat was again forcibly griped by Rowland.
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