" "And what—what was your answer?" demanded the widow, eagerly. Meanwhile, the clergyman, bare-headed and in his surplice, advanced to meet them. You are not my husband. But finding his hints totally disregarded, he, at length, swaggered up to the table, and thrust in a chair. Your adoptive father understands mankind better. Was the girl seriously expecting him to pull the trigger? Lord, but she had courage! ‘Shoot, then,’ urged the lady. "Mercy on us!" cried he, as a thrill of apprehension ran through his frame. That last year in Paris, when Annabel and she had lived in different worlds, had often been a nightmare to her. I beg that you will consider me your friend. CHAPTER XXIV. Salvation.
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