There was a concerted gasp of shock from both the black-garbed lad and the coachman. An old man with a bent back who limped in, slow and stiff, leaning heavily on a cane. In each corner stood a stout square post reaching to the ceiling. “Annabel! God in Heaven, it is Annabel!” She did not speak. Tears started to the young man's eyes on beholding the change, and it was with difficulty he could command himself sufficiently to make the inquiries he desired to do respecting the former owner of the house. She ignored it until it repeated itself. ’ ‘From a convent? Even if I wished to do it, I could not. Better check on Remenham House, I suppose.
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