Will you find your destiny, I wonder, or will you go through life like so many others—a wanderer, knocking ever at empty doors, homeless to the last? Oh, if one could but find the way to your heart. "Perhaps," replied Wood, doubtfully. What do you think, Annabel?” “I don’t think they would,” she admitted. It must have been impossible to see me through that much rain. And now take away those cards, and never let me see them again. He—In fact, he—he locked me in my room. In another minute, the tramp of horses' feet told that the perpetrators of the outrage had effected their escape. "Don't mention it," returned Wood, in the conciliatory tone of one who admits he has been in the wrong; "your explanation is perfectly satisfactory. In the middle there was a gate.
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