" "Arm yourself with that ruffian's weapons," replied Jack, "and let us search for her. His name is carved upon a beam up stairs. I will arise myself. Is all that folly done with—for ever?” Annabel shivered ever so slightly. That’s got his nerves to rags. Her aunt was blandly amiable above a certain tremulous undertow, and talked as if to a caller about the alarming spread of marigolds that summer at the end of the garden, a sort of Yellow Peril to all the smaller hardy annuals, while her father brought some papers to table and presented himself as preoccupied with them. And neither had any of that theatricality which demands gestures and facial expression. —'Why, hang every bailiff that sets a foot in your territories, and you're safe,' says I. ‘Suppose you don’t know what sort of proof she was after?’ he asked. She sat on the edge of her bed and looked about her, at her room, at the row of black-covered books and the pig’s skull.
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