On this fresh outburst of the storm, Wood threw himself instinctively into the bottom of the boat, and clasping the little orphan to his breast, endeavoured to prepare himself to meet his fate. Following him, and acting out of instinct rather than intent, Melusine took a firm grasp of the gilt frame with both hands, lifted it high in the air and, with a shrieking curse, brought it down hard. ‘Come, cry a truce. Feels as if I’ve been dashing back and forth about the whole country, if you want to know. It is not every sort of creature needs—these males. To find the true father at the expense of the beautiful fairy tale Ruth had woven around the woman in the locket was an intolerable thought. It was a port of call, since fortnightly a British mail-boat dropped her mudhook in the bay.
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