’ ‘It is you who will get the head blown off,’ threatened the young lady fiercely. The moisture from the sea was constant, and she spent countless hours staring at the sea from the west tower, the rise and fall of waves. Annabel turned on the electric light and made her way into the sitting-room. Soot was everywhere, for the lamp would not stay trimmed in the gale. "To-night, your ladyship?" ventured an elderly domestic. She then opened Lucy’s meager closet and plucked out a pair of heeled boots usually reserved for weddings and funerals. "Sir Rowland is your uncle—he will be your guardian—he will protect you. Almost at once she had comprehended that she was expected to write down her name and address, which she did, in slanting cobwebby lettering, perhaps a trifle laboriously.
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