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” “Bit starchy,” said Ann Veronica, and altered the key abruptly. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. Why? If she had put the query to herself, she could not have answered it. There were words, then, that ran on indefinitely, with reversals? Here they meant one thing; there, the exact opposite. Keeping hold of the doorhandle, she turned slowly. Now let us forget it. She herself, and one other there, recognized the interposition of something akin to tragedy. For a time he and Miss Klegg contradicted one another. Stanley took the letter and stood with it in his hand thoughtfully for a time. ‘Yes, but quite my own fault. “Enter Sir John, very honest, very much in love with me. Uttering a few inarticulate ejaculations,—for he was completely out of breath,— the fugitive placed a bundle in the arms of the carpenter, and, regardless of the consternation he excited in the breast of that personage, who was almost stupified with astonishment, he began to divest himself of a heavy horseman's cloak, which he threw over Wood's shoulder, and, drawing his sword, seemed to listen intently for the approach of his pursuers.

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