Left to himself, he took a survey of the room, and his heart leaped as he beheld over the, chimney-piece, a portrait of himself. Besides these there was a warm gooseberry-tart, and a cold pigeon pie—the latter capacious enough, even allowing for its due complement of steak, to contain the whole produce of a dovecot; a couple of lobsters and the best part of a salmon swimming in a sea of vinegar, and shaded by a forest of fennel. The lad looked alarmed. She fell into another slumber, one which was more like a blackout. A great bowl of scarlet carnations gleamed from a dark corner, set against the background of a deep brown wall. As if it were she, and not Melusine, who had been hurt by the imposters.
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