’ ‘She again?’ enquired his hostess, her delicate brows rising ‘I beg your pardon, ma’am. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone. Both advanced towards it, when, by the light of the lantern, Wood beheld, in the countenance of the stranger, the well-remembered and stern features of Rowland. "It's all over," groaned Wood, "and perhaps it's as well her senses are gone.
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