225 “Sebastianus. And in the vestry was the sword of monsieur le major. "Bolt the wicket!" shouted Ireton, who, with the others, had been not a little entertained by the gallant turnkey's discomfiture. ‘Pardon, milor’,’ said Valade, ‘but Monsieur Charvill, he was not at fault. There’s no logic in these things. But her temper almost flared again when the sergeant spoke. The doctor frowned. “I can’t imagine, Miss Pellissier,” Brendon said, leaning towards her, “whatever made you think of coming to stay if only for a week at a Montague Street boarding-house. “You may talk—if you can talk cheerfully, not unless.
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