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"What did the old fellow judge from, eh, Joan?" asked he. “I wonder what he takes me for?” When presently she got down from the stile a certain note of internal conflict, a touch of doubt, had gone from her warm-tinted face. " "Nothing," echoed Wood furiously. " "So do I!" she cried; "for then you would have been really my brother. Don’t touch the handle, Annabel! Curse the thing, you’ve jammed it now. The terrors and anxieties of the last few months seemed to have fallen from her, to have passed away like an ugly dream, dismissed with a shudder even from the memory. .
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