“Heavens!” she exclaimed. Ray Plote was most certainly feeling restless, what if he had left the house for the evening? She needed to eat. “She has nothing to be afraid of,” he continued. “There is my aunt,” she said. ” Anna laughed, and went back to her easy chair. Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. Chapter VIII “WHITE’S” Northwards, away from the inhospitality of West Kensington, rumbled the ancient four-wheel cab, laden with luggage and drawn by a wheezy old horse rapidly approaching its last days.
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