“Really,” she said. “It is a hateful story. But it's so wonderful to watch you! Whenever you have written something beautiful, your face shows it. You must think of this evening, John, sometimes—as a sort of atonement. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. Mrs. But I have not done so, and will not. Her first impulse was to fly to the window; and she was about to pass through it, at the risk of sharing the fate of the unfortunate lady, when her arm was grasped by some one in the act of ascending the ladder from without. Luck. “I do not suppose he will be home till late.
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