"Where am I?" she cried, passing her hand across her brow. Annabel a murderess! It was not possible. To a woman she might have confided; but to this man, kindly as he was, it was unthinkable. Meantime, the lady had overtaken them; but, terrified by the menaces of her vindictive kinsmen, she did not dare to reveal herself to her husband, of whose concealment on the roof of the very house the party were searching she was aware. You’re a far cry from your usual gloomy self these days. “He is addressing a meeting of his constituents somewhere,” Annabel answered. “I have come from a very unfashionable quarter,” she said, “and I do not think that I have been inside a milliner’s shop for a year. She followed the official back into his room. Old and dilapidated, the widow's domicile looked the very picture of desolation and misery.
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