His letter of credit; probably that was it; and, observing the strangeness of the room he was in, his first concern on returning to consciousness would naturally relate to his letter of credit. The door was closed— locked,—and the pair were heard descending the stairs. I want to give you time to think. She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. He bowed over her hand, venturing to drop a kiss on it’s leathery surface. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story.
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