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She felt him sometimes at night as he called to her in her dreams. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. From his wallet he brought forth a yellow letter. He lowered his voice a little and leaned over towards her. The girl was in the game now, and that narrowed the circle. “No doubt about that,” Meddoes continued. But Melusine was a little inclined to like this side of the major. Sir Rowland waved his hand, and the attendant withdrew. Mischief bubbled up in her.
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