Wood heard the cry. The old lady clearly read his state of mind, for the apparently irrepressible dimple peeped out. My letters are returned unopened, her maid will not even allow me across the doorstep. Kneebone said, just now. “And of course you are my niece just as Annabel is, although I am sorry to learn that your conduct has been much less discreet than hers. His pride, however, would not suffer him to interfere with their proceedings; much less could he bring himself to acknowledge that he had been in the wrong, and entreat Lady Trafford to remain, though he was well aware that her life might be endangered if she travelled by night. Left to himself, he took a survey of the room, and his heart leaped as he beheld over the, chimney-piece, a portrait of himself.
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