"I have nearly done," replied the stranger. As he balanced the photograph, a humorous twinkle came into his eyes. When her shock and the headache subsided, and she remembered that she had been reading the letter when Gosse had accosted her, she looked for it in vain. “But you do not know,” she whispered, “whether I am a married woman or not. When any violent outrage was committed,—and such matters were of daily, sometimes hourly, occurrence,—a bell, the rope of which descended into the hall, brought the whole of the turnkeys to their assistance. I am a man—of a sort of experience. The oblique ruddy lighting distorted them oddly, made queer bars and patches of shadow upon their clothes. Annabel a murderess! It was not possible. ‘Must be another of her lies. I think too much about myself.
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