‘Something in that, missie. No sterner head was ever beheld beneath the cowl of a monk, or the bonnet of an inquisitor. He pointed to where the lights still burned in Anna’s windows. He trembled, not from any superstitious dread, but from an undefined sense of approaching danger. Her eyes travelled about the room as if in appeal to the very chairs. “You know,” he went on, “this doesn’t seem to me to end anything. Your father has forbidden you to go!’” “Well?” “She said, ‘I hate being horrid to you and father, but I feel it my duty to go to that ball!’” “Felt it her duty!” “‘Very well,’ I said, ‘then I wash my hands of the whole business.
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