We may meet—who can tell? But I will not be fettered, even though you would make the chains of roses. I never could. “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. She went from period to period exactly as she would have read prose; so that sense and music were equally balanced. She crept into the living room and turned off the set, adjusting Cathy’s blanket which had fallen to the carpeted floor. For a time it really seemed all-sufficient to her that she should love. But Bess could scarcely summon resolution enough to hazard the experiment; and it was only on Jack's urgent intreaties, and even threats, that she could be prevailed on to trust herself to the frail tenure of the rope he had prepared. The galleries adjoining it were crowded with spectators,—so was the roof of a large tavern, then the only house standing at the end of the Edgeware Road,—so were the trees,—the walls of Hyde Park,—a neighbouring barn, a shed,—in short, every available position. .
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