This person was speedily followed by half a dozen others, some of whom carried flambeaux. ” Annabel rose and followed her sister from the room. The clouds were nearly black with rain, threatening to spill sleet in daggers and torrents. The features were indistinct, but was that not a halo of white about it? And the dark shadow below, was that a cloak, or the habit of a nun? Skirting the dancing, from which he had taken a breather—not from lack of energy, but to escape the inanities of the young ladies he had partnered—Gerald made his way to a side door in the saloon and opened it. Never mind. There must be something behind the missioner's actions, something of which the girl knew nothing nor suspected. We can love on a snow cornice, we can love over a pail of whitewash. "Yes … but dreadfully tired.
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