Brendon looked across the room at her thoughtfully. "Do you not know me, father?" said the young man, advancing towards him, and warmly grasping his hand. “Annabel!” she exclaimed. Who? Could it be Gerald? Quickly, she looked back at Gosse’s face, and found him frowning. If only he had known it, sympathy was almost entirely with him. " "Traitor!" cried Sir Rowland—"damned—double-dyed traitor!" "Away with him," vociferated Jonathan to his myrmidons, who, having surrounded Trenchard, hurried him off to the coach before he could utter another word,—"first to Mr. ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company.
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