Wood's reply, if he intended any, was cut short by a loud knocking at the door. Standing before a mirror set on a dresser between the windows, two hands frozen in the act of adjusting a wide-brimmed hat on her head, stood a lady in a dark riding habit, her startled features turned towards the door. ‘Not in the open street. “I am developing ailments,” she said, meeting his questioning eyes. It is useless to contend with him, even with right on your side. He drew a little sigh of relief. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. Every moment. On this second excursion, forewarned, she would use no light and keep as quiet as a mouse, she vowed, and thus refrain from attracting the attention of the militia at the gates. ‘I said you were sympathique,’ she told him. "It seems like six long months to me. “Annabel!” she exclaimed.
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