” “May I ask,” Anna said softly, “what you presume to have been the nature of my errand here this evening?” Sir John pointed to Annabel, who was as yet utterly limp. She infused menace into her voice. ‘Hilary was right. The thought passed through his mind even as he started to cross the terrace at a jogtrot, moving to head her off. On this side was a razor with which a son had murdered his father; the blade notched, the haft crusted with blood: on that, a bar of iron, bent, and partly broken, with which a husband had beaten out his wife's brains. They've paid for their lodging. As sure as you're sitting there, Mr. "You've but a sorry lodging, Mrs. ” A little sobbing cry from Annabel arrested Sir John’s attention. Passing at a glance over the whole of the intervening period; leaving in the words of the poet, —The growth untried Of that wide gap— we shall resume our narrative at the beginning of June, 1715.
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