I think not, Annabel. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. Her head ached with a hollow pain. Her glance, absorbing the gilt letters and their significance, communicated to her poised body a species of paralysis. Before many minutes elapsed, he had picked a large hole in the plaster, which showered down in a cloud of dust; and breaking off several laths, caught hold of a beam, by which he held with one hand, until with the other he succeeded, not without some difficulty, in forcing out one of the tiles.
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