“I am sure of it. What have you got to say?" "Too much," replied Kneebone, shaking his head; "sadly too much. They stopped talking, except to each other. ‘Well, what was I to think, miss? Martha never wrote nothing about you, and I did ask. A film of dust lay upon it; the ink marks were ancient. “Yes, I know. “An annuity—a sum of money paid to you yearly or quarterly through my solicitors, and which you can consider as a gift from your sister. "Well?" he whispered. In a moment they were in the street outside.
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