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“Why not?” “Because you are mine. He stood up and she ushered him out of the small room. She kept her face downcast. Beyond was a narrow bridge, crossing a circular building, at the bottom of which lay a deep well. But, alas! she was beautiful—and beauty is a crime not to be forgiven by a jealous woman. “Good evening, Dorling,” he said. ‘Ain’t enough as my bed is took, my sheets all bloodied, and my gin took for to waste on that fellow’s wound. Drink this!” He poured out a glass of wine with a firm hand, and held it to her lips. Oh! that Mr. Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way.
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