“Whither away?” he said, very distinctly in a curiously wheedling voice. “It is rather odd,” he said, “but I always thought that your name was Annabel and hers Anna. “But for you Dad would never have let me marry Lescelles. He righted a chair and sat in it, his face in his hands. The easel and palette having been packed up, and the canvass carefully removed by Austin, the party took leave of the prisoner, who was so much abstracted that he scarcely noticed their departure. Instead, he could not get beyond these minor details—why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whither she was bound. He was content to watch her accepting compliments and gaudy bouquets full of red roses, white carnations, and purple statice. But behind these things which you have said to me there must be others of which I know nothing. Anna stepped back at once with a little gasp of relief. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. “I don’t know. Hark ye, Blueskin," continued he, addressing that personage, who, in obedience to his commands, had, with great promptitude, driven out the rabble, and again secured the door, "a word in your ear. The windows were still darkened—perhaps she was not home yet.
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