There was a flash and a loud report. Even Capes had been for her merely an excitant to passionate love—a mere idol at whose feet one could enjoy imaginative wallowings. He was also, had she known it, more than a little insincere. Shakily, she rose with the sword and drove it through Rhea’s heart. The galleries adjoining it were crowded with spectators,—so was the roof of a large tavern, then the only house standing at the end of the Edgeware Road,—so were the trees,—the walls of Hyde Park,—a neighbouring barn, a shed,—in short, every available position. I dared not sing, I dared not laugh, except when you went away. Danger, in the form he apprehended, was lurking outside: nor was he destined to enjoy long repose.
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