“Nor am I now,” he answered. There was no mistaking his intentions this time. “Please forgive me, Lucy. The men have never had so much work to do since they banded. “You are not content then with stealing from me my name. Mr. “Annabel,” she said slowly, “if I fight this thing out myself, can I trust you that it will not be a vain sacrifice? After what you have said it is useless for us to play with words. The poor old imbecile! Why, this child was a firebrand, a wrecker, if ever he had seen one; and the worst kind because she was unconscious of her gifts. The fellow swore lustily, in a voice which Jack instantly recognised as that of Quilt Arnold, and vainly attempted to rise and draw his sword. She sat herself upon the bed. It was the last thing she felt like drinking.
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