Evidently her foresight has saved me a funeral. "Bolt the wicket!" shouted Ireton, who, with the others, had been not a little entertained by the gallant turnkey's discomfiture. His grey eyes burned under his shaggy eyebrows. . Annabel looked up and down the empty street, and then turned to her sister. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. "I have a token to deliver to you," continued the stranger, addressing her. “Let me help you,” he begged.
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