Ennison, or any other young man. At this moment, a door was opened below; lights gleamed on the walls; and the figures of Rowland and Sir Cecil were distinguished at the foot of the stairs. The more her thoughts dwelt upon the subject, the more convinced she was that she could not go to any one for help; she would have to solve the riddle by her own efforts, by some future experience. I don’t believe any one could have traced us here. But let the horses be in readiness. And the infernal thought of that kiss returned—the softness of her lips and the cool smoothness of her cheeks.
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