He turned his eyes and stared at Miss Garvice like one who wakes from a reverie, and then got up and strolled down the laboratory toward his refuge, the preparation-room. He was alone, hatless and without his boots, and he held a wicked-looking French-made duelling pistol, covered in silver and gold— property no doubt, was Melusine’s fleeting thought, of the late vicomte. I married—I married a woman whom I still think one of the most beautiful persons in the world. Those lives removed,—and Sir Rowland is completely in his power, the estates would be yours—HIS! if he were your husband.
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