Ann Veronica sat firelit by her tea-tray with, quite unconsciously, the air of an expert hostess. Spurling, who did not dare to exhibit her satisfaction otherwise than by privately pinching the arm of her expected husband. Startled by this circumstance, he looked around, and perceived that the trap-door,—which has been mentioned as communicating with a secret staircase,—was open. There was only one idea in his head now—to batter and bruise and crush this weakling, then cast him at the feet of his love-lorn wife. Only an undermaid I was then. “Did I do something wrong?” He asked. She answered him almost coldly. ” Ennison turned round sharply. Poor girl! she was beautiful once; so beautiful as to make me, who care little for the allurements of women, fancy myself enamoured of her.
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