That place was closed by the police last month. He was so depressed and disheartened that he did not then believe he would ever write again. Perhaps her odd beauty—and that too was natural—stirred these thoughts into being. "Ha!" he exclaimed, with a sudden start, as his glance fell upon the portrait; "how came this into your possession, boy?" "Why don't you answer, sirrah?" cried Wild, in a savage tone, and striking him with the silver staff. Without her, it was lonely. Annabel watched her with wide-open, terrified eyes. Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest.
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