Someone had thoughtfully wrapped a bit of tissue paper round the electric bulb. At this moment, a door was opened below; lights gleamed on the walls; and the figures of Rowland and Sir Cecil were distinguished at the foot of the stairs. Annabel was conscious then of the slow anger which had been burning within her since the night of her visit to the “Unusual. I don’t know. The assassination, as you call it, was, obviously, the vengeance of a kinsman of the injured lady, who no doubt was of good family, upon her seducer. He had drawn a horrid picture of the fate that awaited mademoiselle when once the populace discovered her relationship to the Valade family. She dreaded living off the land again, like an animal, as she had done for dozens of years at a stretch. And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band. "What's the matter with the man?" demanded Wild.
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