"Not my king's," returned Wood. " "Or the flat stones in the meadows, teeming with life underneath. Stanley, produced a portrait from its hiding-place in the jewel-drawer under the mirror. He trembled, not from any superstitious dread, but from an undefined sense of approaching danger. ‘Who have lately joined us,’ she said, adding sotto voce, ‘A very great tragedy. But, after all, what does that matter? He is very much taken with me. I shouldn't talk like that. A few steps brought him to the door of the vault in which his mother was immured. Diane spoke first.
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