It was Annabel who caught at the paper. The oaken beam, nine inches in thickness, was now the sole but most formidable obstacle to his flight. Confound this slavery of sex! I am a man! I will get this under if I am killed in doing it!” She scowled into the cold blacknesses about her. More than ever Sir John was glad that he had sat down. While he was thus musing, two horsemen rode past him; and, proceeding to a little distance, stopped likewise. The sea was no longer rolling brass; it was bluer than anything he had ever seen. Paris looms behind—a tragedy of strange recollections—here she emerges Phœnix-like, subtly developed, a flawless woman, beautiful, self-reliant, witty, a woman with the strange gift of making all others beside her seem plain or vulgar.
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