" "Not in the least," replied Shotbolt, creeping beneath the table; "there's my staff. ” And seeing that Hetty and Constance were obviously developing objections, she plunged at once into a demand for help. There was enough contra-light to render her ethereal. Was this the result of some strange experiment? It was the person of Annabel Pellissier—the soul of a very different order of being. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. Now, it was a wilderness of weeds.
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