" "Bring him here,—let me see him—let me embrace him—let me be assured that he is safe, and I am yours. What does it matter? I am not a pauper, Annabel. “How old are you?” “Sixteen. It dropped sideways and fell with a bang to the table. Opening a pair of large black eyes, the child fixed them for an instant upon Wood, and then, alarmed by the light, uttered a low and melancholy cry, which, however, was speedily stilled by the caresses of his mother, towards whom he extended his tiny arms, as if imploring protection. You’ll end up dead, that’s what.
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