How do you like the story?” “Go on,” said Ann Veronica, a little hoarsely, “tell me all of it. "My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly. ’ ‘A pox on the creature,’ swore Mrs Sindlesham, clenching and unclenching her stiff fingers. Years ago, when you were a girl and in the bloom of your beauty, I loved you. I didn’t believe him and I said so. Checking an ominous cough, that, ever and anon, convulsed her lungs, the poor woman addressed a few parting words to her companion, who lingered at the doorway as if he had something on his mind, which he did not very well know how to communicate. The door was fastened by a catch and a latch with an inside key, to which at night a chain and two bolts were added.
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