" "Where did he get it?" inquired Wood, in surprise. The open books she knew by heart; aye, they had been ground into her, morning and night. “The Annabel who lives here, who sings every night at the ‘Unusual’? They call her by your old name. He had a flattish, perhaps, it should be called, a flattened nose, and a brown, leathernlooking hide, that seemed as if it had not unfrequently undergone the process of tanning. Nervously he pulled alongside the dilapidated oncewhite farmhouse. Here was a terrific figure gnashing his teeth, and howling like a wild beast;—there a lover, with hands clasped together and eyes turned passionately upward.
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