” “My Mom complains that she’s tired all the time. “Why, what is the matter with you? What do you mean?” Annabel laughed scornfully. Her companion was a portly handsome man, also dressed in a full suit of the deepest mourning, with the finest of lace at his bosom and wrists, and a sword in a black sheath by his side. Mrs. "Your mother is dead," interposed Wild, scowling. " "It is strange," replied Winifred, artlessly. Some years ago, in 1715, just before the Rebellion, I was rash enough to league myself with the Jacobite party, and by Wild's machinations got clapped into Newgate, whence I was glad to escape with my head upon my shoulders. “Dear friend,” she said, “remember that you are speaking to one who has failed in the only serious object which she has ever sought to accomplish.
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