How on earth does it concern you?” Annabel laughed hardly. And, with a glance of malignant exultation, he quitted the vault, and locked the door. She was vehemently impatient—she did not clearly know for what—to do, to be, to experience. "I had no thought of injuring your wife, and would have died rather than commit so foul a crime. ” Anna moved softly to the window, and threw up the sash. Then the bridge had arched gateways, bristling with spikes, and garnished (as all ancient gateways ought to be) with the heads of traitors.
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