Her long incarceration at the convent in Blaye had taught her to be dismissive of her own appearance. She was supposed to be reading at home, and after breakfast she strolled into the vegetable garden, and having taken up a position upon the staging of a disused greenhouse that had the double advantage of being hidden from the windows of the house and secure from the sudden appearance of any one, she resumed the reading of Mr. I'm a poor nurse. Annabel turned on the electric light and made her way into the sitting-room. Ennison, who had been standing with his back to the window, came suddenly a little further into the room. Acting upon this humane determination, he impelled himself slowly backwards,—for he did not dare to face the blast,—and with incredible labour and fatigue reached the crevice. She was aware of people—her aunt, her father, her fellow-students, friends, and neighbors— moving about outside this glowing secret, very much as an actor is aware of the dim audience beyond the barrier of the footlights. ” She said. ” “You have not told me yet,” Annabel said, “how it is that you have dared to personate me. Never had she seemed to him so much like Anna.
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