’ He flushed. Winds returned, the gardens withered, and roses would not bloom. Any one less courageous than himself would have abandoned the attempt from a conviction of its utter hopelessness; but, though it might for a moment damp his ardour, it could not deter him. To write under a pseudonym!—to be forced to disown his children! He could not write under his own name, enjoy the fruits of fame should these tales prove successful. Kneebone's cheeks glowed with rage, and he set down the wine untasted, while Blueskin resumed his song. Is all that folly done with—for ever?” Annabel shivered ever so slightly.
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