"A mother's prayers—a mother's blessings," she cried, with the fervour almost of inspiration, "will avail against a fiend's malice. The morning swims in the lagoon had thickened the red corpuscle. ‘It—it is—nothing,’ she uttered jerkily. And the Duke, too—I heard him say that a married secretary would be worse than useless to him. Melusine ripped strips off her under-petticoats and fashioned a pad, which she bandaged as tightly as she could over the wound, working swiftly, unperturbed by the gore. ‘You see now how dangerous it is to play this lone hand.
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