She could feel her face turning beet red. But I was portentous, I can assure you. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. She perceived that his countenance was only composed by a great effort, his features severely compressed. Marry, come up! I'm not so easily deluded. “Annabel, I begin to see why you are here. They are all at prayer at this hour. But she was not sure just how to reach it.
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