The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about. She wished that the drive would never end, but it was only three miles after all. She dismissed the idea of doing so. Wood then led the way up a rather high and, according to modern notions, incommodious flight of steps, and introduced his guest to a neat parlour, the windows of which were darkened by pots of flowers and creepers. Immediately the "boy" went forth with his paper lantern, repeating a cry as he ran—warning to clear the way. Never had she seemed to him so much like Anna. "Mint! Mint!" "Death and hell!" cried Rowland, making a furious pass at the carpenter, who fortunately avoided the thrust in the darkness; "will nothing silence you?" "Help!" ejaculated Wood, renewing his cries. ‘I do not know your Gérard.
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