She despises me, I suppose. Gin is the poor man's friend,—his sole set-off against the rich man's luxury. " "There you're wrong, Mr. ” “Annabel is a prophetess,” he declared. He was painfully in earnest, too. It seems he does not inherit the title. Passing the old rectory, and still older church, with its reverend screen of trees, and slowly ascending a hill side, from whence he obtained enchanting peeps of the spire and college of Harrow, he reached the cluster of well-built houses which constitute the village of Neasdon. Shall I send him to Sir John?” Annabel was white to the lips, but her anger was not yet spent. “Is it your maid?” he asked. ‘In that case, he is probably already dead, and you have nothing to worry about. She has never done a really ignoble thing that I know of— never. “Of course.
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