" "Poh! poh!" rejoined Ireton; "it was mere idle boasting. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. How came you, Sir," he continued, addressing Sheppard, "to venture upon that frame. Is it so, Annabel?” “I did not know,” she faltered, “anything about you. So saying, he manfully resumed his work; while Wood and Thames quitted the room, and went down stairs. There isn’t a husband breathing, Annabel, who wouldn’t have blessed that pistol in your hands, and prayed God that the bullet might go straight. ‘But how do you come here?’ ‘Down on a routine patrol, unluckily for you,’ he answered grimly. After all, where prayer fails, a pistol is bound to succeed. On the contrary. But she did not in the least want to do that.
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