"Anything else?" "Your waistcoat. The crowd dispersed in different directions, and most fortunately a heavy shower coming on, put them altogether to flight. To-night all London believes that he was your husband. Inexplicably there flashed into vision the Chinese wedding procession in the narrow, twisted streets of the city, that first day: the gorgeous palanquin, the tomtoms, the weird music, the ribald, jeering mob that trailed along behind. In this letter, which is addressed to my ill-fated mother, he speaks of his friendship for Sir Rowland, whom it seems he had known abroad; but entreats her to keep the marriage secret for a time, for reasons which are not fully developed. Perhaps, after all, the others were right. You came to me, you wished me to speak to Anna. After all, it was what she had been praying for—and Annabel could not have known her address. "I understand," replied Rowland. There is a small yewtree west of the church.
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