” Annabel laughed softly. He lives in constant dread of a reappearance of ‘La Belle Alcide,’ and hearing it said that she is his wife’s sister. ‘You!’ ‘Yes, it is I, mademoiselle,’ he continued in his own tongue. Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. This, Wood, acting upon Terry's caution, was most unwilling to do; but, finding he had no alternative, he reluctantly made known his errand and the bolts were undrawn. She gave tongue to the most urgent of her plaints.
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