Howard Spurlock. Poor thing! how beautiful she looks! but how like death!" Deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper,—deathlike and deep. ’ Melusine heard a note of triumph in his voice and turned, a questioning look in her face. "Well, Sir?" cried the other, eagerly. There is a small yewtree west of the church. Melusine approached with caution and sat warily at one end, looking up at him expectantly. The drawers at the moment were too busy to attend to her, and she would have seized the opportunity of examining, unperceived, the assemblage within, through a little curtained window that overlooked the adjoining chamber, if an impediment had not existed in the shape of Baptist Kettleby, whose portly person entirely obscured the view.
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