The Wastrel wiped the blood from his forehead. "To-night you shall be my wedded wife. Wood now re-appeared with a very red face; and, followed by Winifred, took her seat at the table. ‘Dare I guess at the reason for your sudden interest in émigrés, Gerald?’ ‘Lucilla,’ barked Hilary warningly. Answering him was agonizing. To be complete, my vengeance must be tardy. His attitude was as different from Gianfrancesco’s as night was from day. Leonardo he was my—’ ‘Don’t say it,’ Gerald cut in hoarsely. I don’t think I’ve got illusions, nor you. She drew a chair to the window and stared at the splendour of the tropical night. Cloud back of your hat!" He opened his eyes again. " "Who are you!" demanded the fugitive, sternly.
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