He stabbed a kitchen knife between her ribs. ‘Do you mean to tell me,’ enquired the captain at length, ‘that you have had the infernal audacity, the—the gall, the—the— Gad, it’s an outrage! You’ve stolen a horse from a priest?’ ‘I did not steal it,’ protested Melusine hotly. “I wrote it for you. Almost at once she had comprehended that she was expected to write down her name and address, which she did, in slanting cobwebby lettering, perhaps a trifle laboriously. It was at his side below the breast, hidden by the dark colour of his close-fitting jacket. It seemed to show a want of affection, to be a deliberate and unmerited disregard, to justify the reprisal of being hurt.
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