At this moment, a door was opened below; lights gleamed on the walls; and the figures of Rowland and Sir Cecil were distinguished at the foot of the stairs. A pair of long-lashed blue eyes studied them both as she slowly brought her hands down to rest by her sides. ‘No, my poor guardian,’ Gerald mocked. She stared down at them from a high window, peering down at their moonlit faces in the bed heavy with furs, the same bed where she had given birth to Gianfrancesco’s dead son. What ho! lights! lights!" And, shouting as he went, he flung himself down stairs. But you need not fear,’ she added, shaking him off. ‘You were right, miss.
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