"Write as I dictate," he cried, placing a pen in the jailer's hand and a pistol to his ear. Love and lavender, he thought, perhaps wistfully. Old Kesterton, choleric-looking individual nearly opposite, will curse the cooking till he’s black in the face, but he never misses a dinner. No sooner had Trenchard crossed the threshold than a fierce barking was heard at the farther extremity of the passage, and, the next moment, a couple of mastiffs of the largest size rushed furiously towards him. “It’s a way of avoiding explanations. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. Melusine ran up the stairway after him, her point flailing to frighten him into allowing her access to the chapel.
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