“Who are you—Annabel Pellissier or her ghost?” Anna laughed. Now you haven’t the ghost of one—not if you play the game fair. She is in Wild's power. ‘More nor that. Something has changed her tremendously. Again having recourse to the centre-bit,—for Winifred's door was locked,—Jack had nearly cut out a panel, when a sudden outcry was raised in the carpenter's chamber. A grimy, battered object, which had no place in the fashionable quarter of town. Throwing down the pencil, she snatched up a piece of India-rubber, and exclaiming,—"It isn't at all like him! it isn't half handsome enough!" was about to efface the sketch, when Thames darted into the room. " "Why, what the devil's this?" vociferated Jonathan, looking up. It was a simple wish. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother.
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