" "What gives you that idea?" "Well, we could find no letter of credit, no letters, no labels in his clothes—not a single clew to his real identity. He had not to wait long. Forgetting the dark thoughts of his last brush with the girl, he dropped the dagger back in his pocket, quickened his pace, and went back into the house to look for his hostess. "Not so, Sir Rowland," returned Jonathan; "you are my prisoner. Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. Mrs. Annabel half filled her glass with wine, and taking a little folded packet from her plate, shook the contents into it. I hear they are very much affected by the tragedies of their neighbours in France.
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