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CHAPTER XVIII The doctor reached for the key and studied it sombrely. Annabel shines like a star in the darkness, Rosamund queens it a rose, deep rose; But the lady I love is like sunshine in April weather, She gleams and gladdens, she warms—and goes. . Her cogitations were dissipated by a knock on the door. “I’m going for a long tramp, auntie,” she said. “You are Mademoiselle Pellissier?” he asked, without rising to his feet. Before his departure, he gave his assistant a glove. “There have been other times,” he said a little sadly. But she has let fall enough for me to understand that she knows about her father’s misdeeds. ” “But it’s about other things. Urging his steed along Oxford Road,— as that great approach to the metropolis was then termed,—he soon passed Marylebone Lane, beyond which, with the exception of a few scattered houses, the country was completely open on the right, and laid out in pleasant fields and gardens; nor did he draw in the rein until he arrived at Tyburn-gate, where, before he turned off upon the Edgeware Road, he halted for a moment, to glance at the place of execution. His deduction was correct that the beauty of Ruth Enschede could not remain hidden long even on a forgotten isle. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love.

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