Standing before a mirror set on a dresser between the windows, two hands frozen in the act of adjusting a wide-brimmed hat on her head, stood a lady in a dark riding habit, her startled features turned towards the door. “I hope nothing is wrong. " "In what way, Sir?" demanded Trenchard, in astonishment. As he turned the handle, it moved, and the door was taken from his hand and pulled outward by the young footman. There was nothing to be got out of the man. “Cheer up, Annabel.
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