Well, I don't blame you on that ground. " "Dere's de other door!" cried Mendez, in alarm. "Oh gracious! he's lost. "What say you to carrying her off, Captain?" suggested Blueskin. “It is rather odd,” he said, “but I always thought that your name was Annabel and hers Anna. Whence she came,—who she was,—and what she wanted,—were questions which naturally suggested themselves to Blueskin, and he was about to seek for some explanation, when his curiosity was checked by a gesture of silence from the lady. “If I was the world I think I should have put down a crimson carpet, and asked you to say what you wanted, and generally walk over me. When her shock and the headache subsided, and she remembered that she had been reading the letter when Gosse had accosted her, she looked for it in vain. “I think that’s the right name. “The young women of Jane Austen’s time didn’t get into this sort of scrape! At least—one thinks so.
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