” She laughed softly. Her shoulders were gripped hard and a familiar voice spoke. “You poor thing. Notwithstanding the heat of the season,—which was not, however, found particularly inconvenient in this subterranean region,—a large heaped-up fire blazed ruddily in one corner, and lighted up a circle of as villanous countenances as ever flame shone upon. But that was soon put right, and she walked out into London with a peculiar exaltation of mind, an exaltation that partook of panic and defiance, but was chiefly a sense of vast unexampled release. “What have I done, Miss Pellissier?” he pleaded. She flushed with desire and happiness, her husband had returned to her and all would be aright. CHAPTER XX.
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