"Let us in," said the Master, rapping his truncheon authoritatively against the boards, "or we'll force an entrance. There was something about their greeting and the tone of Annabel’s exclamation which puzzled her. The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. Wood having laid hold of the canvass-bag. Ann Veronica found herself incompetent, undignified, and detestable, holding on desperately to a hardening antagonism to her father, quarrelling with him, wrangling with him, thinking of repartees—almost as if he was a brother. There was nothing in his manner to suggest the misery of the preceding night. Sorry. The unexpected twist—his disclosure to McClintock—had given Spurlock but temporary relief.
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