” Annabel laughed gaily. Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. " "You'd better send him," jeered the turnkey. Wait a second. ‘Tchah! So you’re the whelp’s girl, are you? Suppose you’ve nothing but that villainous French in your tongue. “Dear me!” he said. Silence! Then Anna clutched her companion’s arm. But why this part of the plan now seemed to her quite unattractive was a question she did not care to examine too closely.
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