Hanging on the wall was a temple censer, bronze, moulded in the shape of a lotus blossom with stem and leaves—deadly as a club. ’ Lucilla eyed him with one of those particularly feminine looks it was difficult for a mere male to interpret. Another horn now resounded from the further extremity of the thoroughfare; this was answered by a third; and presently a fourth, and more remote blast, took up the note of alarm. Once she heard him mutter, and she leaned down. It tore her apart. “Well, no,” she answered. I speak no harm of her. “I believe she’s dressing up-stairs—now. Gentlemen! a glass of brandy will be no bad finish to our meal.
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