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All at once Melusine remembered Pottiswick, and the errand he had run. “Promise me that you’ll never tell another living soul, John. ‘Silence,’ he warned again, with a prod of the dagger at her heart. Jack looked towards the door. Mr. Utter silence answered him. For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it. Or felt it. “Quite an unimportant one,” he assured her. Bring the light this way—quick! I cannot decipher the signature. “I have spoken too many truths to-night. If I surprised her, if I saw her alone, I might make her understand. ” “Perhaps,” she said, “I am superstitious.
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