Not a word was uttered by the assemblage; but a hush of expectation reigned throughout. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. Melusine sighed with relief at being alone at last and free to resume her search among the portraits. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. “I do not think so.
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