A slight cough uttered by Jonathan at the moment awakened the echoes of the place, and was returned in hollow reverberations. ‘What in God’s name is going on?’ Glancing swiftly towards the doorway, Gerald saw his friend’s disbelieving face and burst out, speaking over the top of Melusine as she made another grab for the little square of linen. Carried out to sea by Van Galgebrok, and thrown overboard, while struggling with the waves, he had been picked up by a French fishing-boat, and carried to Ostend. It was a port of call, since fortnightly a British mail-boat dropped her mudhook in the bay. And now—Dear! Dear! The dayspring from on high hath visited me. He knocked on the doorframe. “Won’t you give me your address?” She shook her head. His demeanour then was sober enough to lend colour to that belief.
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