"But we must be getting along if we are to lunch in the tower of the water-clock. "Insult you! not I;" returned Figg. “I noticed him call her attention to us as we passed down the room,” he answered. “It’s magnificent!” He leaned back and regarded her with his head a little on one side. ” Annabel rose slowly to her feet, walked to the door as though to see that it was shut, and came back with slow lagging footsteps. Another picture slid across her vision. O God! O God!" And he appeared convulsed with agony. Something in his tone pinched her heart. “My dear boy,” she exclaimed. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. She emerged with a white face and wide-open eyes upon a little, red-lit landing. .
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