But she must stop him getting away. This time she feinted as his point came up to deflect her own, and disengaging, passed under and cut at his cheek. “This is the slavery of the veiled life. ‘Do you think I am afraid of a sword in the hand of a slip of a girl?’ For answer, Melusine lunged at him. You make a game with me, imbecile. It must be the dawn creeping in. “I wonder what he takes me for?” When presently she got down from the stile a certain note of internal conflict, a touch of doubt, had gone from her warm-tinted face. Do you know, Lady Ferringhall, I am proud that your sister permits me to call myself her friend.
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