I thought my sister and her murdered husband dragged me hither, to this very room, and commanded you to slay me. How did you get your luggage out of the house? Wasn’t it—wasn’t it rather in some respects—rather a lark? It’s one of my regrets for my lost youth. Her eyes fell, and then sought his again with timid interest. On this fresh outburst of the storm, Wood threw himself instinctively into the bottom of the boat, and clasping the little orphan to his breast, endeavoured to prepare himself to meet his fate. She was saying good-bye to childhood and home, and her making; she was going out into the great, multitudinous world; this time there would be no returning. The ambitions of his life, and they were many, seemed to lie far away, broken up dreams in some outside world where the way was rough and the sky always grey. Annabel is my only sister, you know, almost my only relative.
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