Melusine came in, picked up the lantern, and heard the library door bang open just as the panel clicked closed behind her. Winifred's face had a thoroughly amiable look. Maggot, whose nerves were more firmly strung, she contented herself with waving her hand affectionately to her lover, and encouraging him by her gestures. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. He took about five minutes. He listened to the thunder of the fall now mingling with the roar of the blast; and, driven almost frantic by what he heard and saw, he pushed with all his force against the stone. “It’s either now or never,” she said to herself.
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