She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. The chief scene of these disgusting orgies,—the cellar, just referred to,—was a large low-roofed vault, about four feet below the level of the street, perfectly dark, unless when illumined by a roaring fire, and candles stuck in pyramidal lumps of clay, with a range of butts and barrels at one end, and benches and tables at the other, where the prisoners, debtors, and malefactors male and female, assembled as long as their money lasted, and consumed the time in drinking, smoking, and gaming with cards and dice. “This is all rot!” he declared angrily. Her heart in her mouth, hoping against hope, Melusine made her way back to where she had left the boy. Though nearly dark, there was still light enough left to enable him to discern surrounding objects. “Looks like old times here, I see. Dare you?” “Do you mean NOW?” “At the end of the session. CHAPTER I.
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