He reached the top floor and ran down the corridor to the little dressing room at the end where he had lost her before. " "You're strangely superstitious, Sir Rowland," said Jonathan, halting, and looking steadfastly at him. Loving was self-forgetfulness, pure delighting in another human being. He felt that he might soon be separated—perhaps, for ever—from the fond little creature he held in his arms, whom he had always regarded with the warmest fraternal affection, and the thought of how much she would suffer from the separation so sensibly affected him, that he could not help joining in her grief. ‘He can’t be Valade, that’s certain,’ mused Gerald, unheeding. I must have this beast brought to London with me, that is seen.
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