"What proof have you of the truth of this story?" inquired Trenchard. "Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. His eyes closed. It’s the public entrance. Gerald watched her vanish into the darkness, unusually incensed. “Perhaps that is only sleeping,” he said. Enschede halted. She listened, listened intently for several minutes. ’ Gosse smiled and Melusine read triumph there. ’ ‘But you are excessively clever, Jacques,’ cried Melusine, relief flooding her.
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