Left alone, Jonathan lighted a lamp, and, opening the trap-door, descended the secret stairs. Here, then, but for the time and place, might be another Sidney Carton. The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. She forgot her vital hatred of the South Seas; she forgot that McClintock's would not differ a jot from the old island she had for ever left behind her; she forgot all the doctor's lessons and warnings. He had found her in a communicative mood, and he used the accumulated skill of years in turning that to account. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag.
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