A hand of iron fell upon the scowling young man’s shoulder. “Listen, Annabel,” he said hoarsely. You do not believe me. “My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. “How’d you know it was me?” He looked conspiratorially into the room for hidden informants. I guess they were bad all the time. " "Wait a bit, massa," replied the grinning negro,—"lilly bit—see all right fust. Besides, the sun had gone in and it looked like rain. " And, dexterously applying the implement, he forced open the lock. Yet he stays. The couple reappeared from behind the curtains, both visibly shaken.
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