Annabel half filled her glass with wine, and taking a little folded packet from her plate, shook the contents into it. Though within the last two days he had committed several heinous offences, and one of a darker dye than any with which the reader has been made acquainted, his breast was not yet so callous as to be wholly insensible to the stings of conscience. She uttered a little ejaculative note of joy and rushed to the bed. Don’t you care for Nigel at all?” Anna was silent for a moment or two. Aware of the cunning and desperate characters of the persons with whom she would have to deal,—aware, also, that she was in a quarter where no laws could be appealed to, nor assistance obtained, she felt the absolute necessity of caution. It had been his fevered imagination that had endued the garment with some extraordinary value. There, hanging among Ann Veronica’s more normal clothing, was a skimpy dress of red canvas, trimmed with cheap and tawdry braid, and short—it could hardly reach below the knee.
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