"Poor thing!" muttered he, as the widow departed on her errand, "she's seen better days and better circumstances than she'll ever see again, I'm sure. Besides, she had admitted her identity. Wood, carving for his friends, and pledging the carpenter, he had his hands full. And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror. He thought of her and himself, and no longer in that vein of incidental adventure in which he had begun. "Surely," he added, staring at Rowland, "either I'm greatly mistaken, or it is—" "You are not mistaken, Baptist," returned Rowland with a gesture of silence; "it is your old friend. Too skilled to advertise their presence by a show of arms and men. ” Chapter XXVI ANNABEL IS WARNED “You!” David Courtlaw crossed the floor of the dingy little sitting-room with outstretched hands. Wood, delighted at the idea. But the current rumblings of internal discontent across the Channel were productive of unease in certain quarters.
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