Melusine tilted her head to catch sight of her neck, and froze, staring at the image. " "My strength fails me," gasped the fugitive. "Do you know what you are talking about, Mrs. Manning,” she said, “I warned you not to idealize me. Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. These were less like streets than labyrinths, hewn through an eternal twilight. He looked around, and as he heard that deafening shout,— as he felt the influence of those thousand eyes fixed upon him,—as he listened to the cheers, all his misgivings—if he had any—vanished, and he felt more as if he were marching to a triumph, than proceeding to a shameful death.
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