"Spring!—I never knew any. Montague Hill?” Annabel put her hand suddenly to her throat and steadied herself with the back of a chair. A moment afterwards, the door was closed and bolted, and the carpenter found himself alone. Hers was beauty on a large scale no doubt; but it was beauty, nevertheless: and the carpenter thought her eyes as bright, her complexion as blooming, and her figure (if a little more buxom) quite as captivating as when he led her to the altar some twenty years ago. He was now aided with a powerful implement, with which he soon contrived to make a hole in the wall. "Mercy on us!" cried he, as a thrill of apprehension ran through his frame.
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