Wood," observed Jackson, in a slightly-sarcastic tone. “No. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. She had resisted as long as she could; then she had stolen over. ’ Then she whisked from the room, hearing Lucilla utter a delighted squeal as she closed the door behind her. It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections. Who is the other?” “What other?” Her voice seemed to come from a long way off.
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