“He naturally does not wish for connexions which are—I do not wish to hurt you feelings, Anna, but I must say it—not altogether desirable. God! I have cheated myself into a belief that the boy perished! And now my worst fears are realized —he lives!" "As yet," returned Jonathan, with fearful emphasis. " "Hold your tongue, sirrah," rejoined Shotbolt, not over-pleased by the remark, "and mind what I tell you. If there is, it’s a mere wrapping—there’s better underneath. I was afraid of being talked about. Give him his medicine every half hour. Remember ——” Annabel clutched her sister’s arm. White assured her. Yes, of course. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. She put down the sketch-books and apparatus she had brought with her, pulled out her stool, and sat down. ’ She drew a heavy breath.
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