‘How in God’s name did the wretched fellow get in then?’ ‘Dug a tunnel?’ suggested Gerald, halting next to a pair of French windows at the front. ’ ‘Assuredly there are many escaping from France at this time. ‘Don’t fob me off, boy. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. The inn was a military haunt. It was she—— Anna’s nerves were not easily shaken, but she found herself suddenly clutching at the table for support. "Constance—or, rather, Mrs. Very well! I will try to help you. You know you do, Annabel.
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