‘Beg pardon, miss, but I’m told as how—’ She broke off, her eyes widening, her jaw dropping open. “You won’t give me away, Anna. ‘I thought it was his great-nephew, young Brewis Charvill, who is his heir. She had a feeling as though something had dropped from her eyes, as though she had just discovered herself for the first time—discovered herself as a sleepwalker might do, abruptly among dangers, hindrances, and perplexities, on the verge of a cardinal crisis. Her figure, though slight, had all the fulness of health; and her complexion—still pale, but without its former sickly cast,—contrasted agreeably, by its extreme fairness, with the dark brows and darker lashes that shaded eyes which, if they had lost some of their original brilliancy, had gained infinitely more in the soft and chastened lustre that replaced it. “You cannot! Oh, you cannot. ’ ‘Where are we going?’ ‘Back to Blaye, my girl. “Ruin me? Think of me with fondness? Are you dying of cancer or something?” He demanded. In a moment they were in the street outside. That’s who you ought to go and see, miss. Your glove will suffice. Anna sat with the face of a Sphinx— waiting.
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