” Chapter XXVI ANNABEL IS WARNED “You!” David Courtlaw crossed the floor of the dingy little sitting-room with outstretched hands. You sing better than Annabel ever did, you have even a better style. Since the accession of George the First to the throne in the preceding year, every effort had been made by the partisans of the Stuarts to shake the credit of the existing government, and to gain supporters to their cause. Now he would take her away from the house before killing her, and no one would find her body at all. She threw out a hand to stop herself from cannoning into them and, losing balance, tripped over her own petticoats and fell to the carpeted floor, her hat falling off as she did so. It was from Brendon. A dreamy sense of content crept over him. "You're not out yet, you young hound," rejoined Quilt, striving ineffectually to burst open the door.
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