Feel for the lock, and prize it open,—you don't need to be told how. How can he help you?” She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpetmerchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his heart beat to music. ‘Can’t you trust me a little?’ His touch sent shivers running through her, but Melusine did not withdraw her hand. She doubted how she stood toward him and what the restrained gleam of his face might signify. "I'm going back for Ruth. S.
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