"What shall I say? Shall I tell you, or shall I leave you in the dark—as I must always leave her? What shall I say except that I am accursed of men? Yes; I have loved something—her mother. In fact, Kimble was drowsily awake when she entered the little bedchamber, the state of which left a good deal to be desired, even without the added debris arising from tending a wounded man. The thought made her exquisitely happy. Strewn across the bed was a multitude of jumbled garments. McClintock, striking a match to relight his cigar, broke the spell. Anna leaned back with half closed eyes. A swift frown brought the still dark brows together for a moment. Then she cursed herself for his eyes went to the letter and came back to her face. He continued thoughtfully. The postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the serving-men made their appearance.
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