Then he turned on his heel and walked off. It was now a quarter past twelve. The Night-Cellar. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. “For I know that you love Ennison. " And then he added, in an under tone, "Conceal yourself outside, and be within call. ‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her. " "But you will,—won't you?" she rejoined, looking him coaxingly in the face.
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