"Where is your accursed master?" demanded Blueskin, holding the sword to his throat. One realized indeed then where the differences lay; the tender curves about Anna’s mouth transformed into hard sharp lines in Annabel’s, the eyes of one, truthful and frank, the other’s more beautiful but with less expression—windows lit with dazzling light, but through which one saw—nothing. From first to last, on this occasion, her aunt expostulated for about two hours. But the fall was too great, and he abandoned the attempt. Over the mantel, set into an ornately carved panel with fluted columns at each end, was a portrait of a man on horseback. Having seen his mistress safe down, Jack instantly descended, leaving the best part of his clothes, as a memorial of his flight, to the jailor. What can she be? The wife of a country tradesman, or a duchess? And such a meek little husband too. If the boy had done anything wrong back there in the States, his would be the brand of conscience to pay him out in full.
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