And the woollen-draper departed. “Annabel!” He looked at her thoughtfully. Sir Rowland laid his hand upon his sword. She touched it, and her gaze lifted. She was still fully dressed; so all she had to do was to pause before the mirror and give her hair a few pats. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. It was still so dark, that nothing could be distinguished except the heavy masses of timber by which the premises were surrounded; but as they advanced, lights were visible in some of the windows. ’ He slid slowly down and collapsed to the stone floor, fainting dead away.
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