I am certainly no ghost. ‘Pray you, mademoiselle, can you not—’ ‘No use trying to enlist Lucilla’s aid,’ snapped Roding. From the sounds of it, he was better off dead. My will never faltered. He opened the door for her with a faint disagreeable smile. Fancying they were alone, Sir Rowland threw aside his cloak, and produced a heavy bag of money, which he flung upon the table; and, when Wild had feasted his greedy eyes sufficiently upon its golden contents, he handed him a pocketbook filled with notes. He breathed heavily, as though he had been running. "That's for Mrs.
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