"Don't fire," cried the latter. One morning, as he took his stand on the Hong-Kong packet dock to ambush the possible tourist, he witnessed the arrival of a tubby schooner, dirty gray and blotched as though she had run through fire. At the back of her mind, Melusine noted an odd look in the boy’s face, but there was no time to explore it. Immediately beneath her lay Willesden,—the most charming and secluded village in the neighbourhood of the metropolis—with its scattered farm-houses, its noble granges, and its old grey church-tower just peeping above a grove of rook-haunted trees. The Ragged Edge. He must have been following her from room to room, silent in his stockinged feet.
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