They were only passers-by. Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. It was supposed he was drowned in crossing the river, as his body had never been found. It had ever been her policy, much to Melusine’s relief, for she was apt to complain that it only made her mad and there was nothing she could do about it. She tried to compose her thoughts, to think of the last six months, to steep herself in the calm beauty of the surroundings. The Jew did not speak, but pointed to the audience-chamber. We’ll run away together, we’ll elope. ‘Madwoman,’ he screamed back, as he climbed over the next pew, eyes darting down briefly to check for his sword. Sheppard, with a frenzied laugh.
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