” “You are sure that he asked for me—not for Annabel?” “Certain,” Courtlaw answered. The thought of you, wandering from pillar to post, believing yourself hunted—it tore my old heart to pieces! For I knew you. The Enschede Bible—the one out of which she read—had been strangely mutilated. Eggs were procured for her, and she sat out the subsequent emotions and eloquence with the dignity becoming an injured lady of good family. ‘The gatehouse? But why must you move him at all?’ ‘Listen, missie. It was also cold, and dark, for there had been no time to light the lantern.
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