"No, I shan't," replied Rachel, saucily. The following morning found him in the doctor's waiting room, a black cigar turning unlighted in his teeth. I swore I would bring your husband to the gallows,—would plunge you in such want, such distress, that you should have no alternative but the last frightful resource of misery,—and I also swore, that if you had a son he should share the same fate as his father. " "That is very kind of you," she acknowledged. On the mantelpiece in front of her was a note addressed to her in Annabel’s handwriting.
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