To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. "Well, Lady Trafford," he said, fixing a severe look upon her. " "Perhaps he is from Lord Derwentwater, or Mr. Jeremiah Jackson and Mr. Love stories!… A sob rushed into her throat, and to smother it she buried her face in a pillow. ” He seemed to be elaborating ideas as he talked. The great door of the Stone Hall was thrown open, and the sheriffs, preceded by the javelin-men, entered the room. She has not been accused of any crime. "What did you say to him?" inquired Jonathan, suspiciously. Why was he there? why did the tempter dare to invade that sacred spot! She could not answer her own questions, but vague fearful suspicions passed through her mind. Anna, you shall not go.
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