Perhaps she was. He was accompanied by a young man of about seven-and-twenty, who carried his easel, set it in its place, laid the canvass upon it, opened the paint box, took out the brushes and palette, and, in short, paid him the most assiduous attention. The place was gloomy, with its darkly panelled walls, but it was sparsely furnished. "It's you, Jack, who are persuading my brother to do wrong. “No. The executioner shook his head. The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. Annabel saw it, and suddenly changed her tone.
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