I think not, Annabel. But you,” he continued, moving imperceptibility a little nearer to her, “you are mine. They tracked the fugitive to the Mint; but, like hounds at fault, they here lost all scent of their prey. From this perturbed state he was roused by thoughts of his mother, and fancying he heard her gentle voice urging him on to fresh exertion, he started up. It was very pretty and very dainty while it lasted, but we played it with our eyes open, and we perfectly understood the game—both of us. And I passed myself off as Meysey Hill, and since—then—I haven’t had a minute’s peace. “Is that you, Nigel?” she asked.
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