She stepped back quickly, and her hand knocked a wine-glass from the table to smash noisily on the floor. ” She was frightened—his anger always did frighten her—and in her resolve to conceal her fright she carried a queen-like dignity to what she felt even at the time was a preposterous pitch. That last year in Paris, when Annabel and she had lived in different worlds, had often been a nightmare to her. We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage. "'Sblood! what's this!" cried Jonathan, in the utmost surprise.
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