Ennison spoke at last. And he did not lack courage. “In a sense—yes. “I saw you in a sort of sloping, slippery place, holding on by your hands and slipping. What's this?" he added, stooping to pick up a piece of paper lying at his feet—it was Jonathan's memorandum. She recognized the face but could not quite place it. . “As if it could possibly matter what such a person thinks of you. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. ‘But I have been perfectly honest about that. Although Melusine had taken care to trouble herself about the hand she had cut, and was glad to find it healing very well. I've destroyed my only chance. Do you know whoso portrait this is?" "I do not," replied Thames, repressing his tears, "but I believe it to be the portrait of my father.
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