” Annabel moistened her dry lips with a handkerchief steeped in eau de Cologne. She had suddenly become as the jewels of the Madonna, as the idol's eye, infinitely beyond his reach, sacred. The pouting cherry lips were slightly parted and the very faintest of panting breaths, together with the quick rise and fall of an alluring bosom, betrayed her fear. But though he visited Sir Rowland Trenchard's seat, Ashton Hall, he could gain no tidings of him, or of his uncle, Sir Rowland, who, it seems, has left the country. It appeared he had already ordered dinner and wine, and the whiskered waiter waved in his subordinate with the soup forthwith.
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