Melusine tapped on it. It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it. Amiable and good-looking. It appeared from what he said that he had been captured when asleep,—that his liquor had been drugged,—otherwise, he would never have allowed himself to be taken alive. His efforts at self-destruction were, however, prevented. At length, after he had given up the point from sheer exhaustion, the Amazon seized him by the throat, and pushed him backwards with such force that he rolled over the counter. She gloried in it: he needed her. "Help!—help, Mr.
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