‘Well she does,’ insisted Miss Froxfield impenitently, and turned to Gerald. Over the mantel, set into an ornately carved panel with fluted columns at each end, was a portrait of a man on horseback. 1. ‘Comment? This is not a mirror!’ It was a portrait. ” Annabel shrugged her shoulders. In this cell was a huntsman, who had fractured his skull while hunting, and was perpetually hallooing after the hounds;—in that, the most melancholy of all, the grinning gibbering lunatic, the realization of "moody madness, laughing wild. It had been her home for hundreds of years.
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