And Anna was conscious of a few moments of exquisite emotion. The library was on the ground floor, Melusine recalled from the previous visit, for she had searched through a desk in a room filled with bookshelves of leatherbound volumes. The darkness prevented the carpenter from discerning the features or figure of the stranger; and the ceaseless din precluded the possibility of holding any communication by words with him. "I owe you nothing," he repeated, dully. "You are angry?" "Very. She dressed rapidly and left the theatre without a word to any one. It was not that the servants could not, they simply preferred to. Anna sat quite still for a moment, and then the colour suddenly returned to her cheeks. I've watched this lad—this Sheppard—from infancy; and, though I have apparently concerned myself little about him, I have never lost sight of my purpose.
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