By this time, she had so far succeeded in calming herself, that she answered the greetings of the neighbours whom she encountered on her way to the sacred edifice—if sorrowfully, still composedly. This "fatal retreat for the unfortunate brave" was marked by a low wooden railing, within which stood the triple tree. " "You are very kind, Sir," returned the widow, "but I require no support. "Put about, waterman, for God's sake!" cried Wood, whose humanity got the better of every personal consideration; "some one is overboard. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure.
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