Upon my word—you are Miss Pellissier, aren’t you?” “I certainly am,” she admitted. But that was soon put right, and she walked out into London with a peculiar exaltation of mind, an exaltation that partook of panic and defiance, but was chiefly a sense of vast unexampled release. "Ay, ay," rejoined Sheppard; "he may do what he pleases,—hang me, if he thinks proper,—if you wish it. Could she go through with it? She must. Even though the individual faces of her audience were not to be singled out, she had been conscious from the first moment of her appearance that something was wrong. Had he not said as much at Remenham House? She allowed him to march her through the chapel without resistance. Montressor’s guests. You never can tell.
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