"Are you hurt, Thames?" asked Jack, anxiously. On a pallet in one corner lay a pale emaciated female. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. The place to which you went was not the English Embassy, and the whole performance was a fraud. ‘The more I hear about this Leonardo,’ Lucy said severely, ‘the more I want to meet your Melusine. ‘Allow me.
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