At length, at the end of a passage, next to the cell where Mrs. He seemed to be thinking hard. She was supposed to be lifeless; but she survived the accident, though she never regained her strength. The library was on the ground floor, Melusine recalled from the previous visit, for she had searched through a desk in a room filled with bookshelves of leatherbound volumes. Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which the disordered mind began permanently to readjust itself. Supposing she saw the young man at dinner that night, emptying his bottle? She could not go to him, sit down and draw the sordid pictures she had seen so often. . Impassive by nature and training, he was conscious to-night of a strange sense of excitement, of exhilaration tempered by a dull background of disappointment. He classified her as he seated himself.
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