“Hainault was Celeste’s friend, and Celeste was Annabel’s enemy,” Courtlaw said. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. By this time, the procession had reached the west end of the wall of St. Wood's daughter,—to whom, I've heard tell, he was attached years ago,—was brought up, his courage forsook him altogether, and he trembled, and could scarcely stand. I'll talk to her in the morning, but she won't understand what I'm driving at. ” He dared, his nostrils flaring. There was more to be told, and this was as good a time as any.
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