“Sir John!” Annabel gasped. Wood dandled his little charge to and fro, after the most approved nursery fashion, essaying at the same time the soothing influence of an infantine melody proper to the occasion; but, failing in his design, he soon lost all patience, and being, as we have before hinted, rather irritable, though extremely well-meaning, he lifted the unhappy bantling in the air, and shook him with so much good will, that he had well-nigh silenced him most effectually. “I want to ask you a question,” she said abruptly. And now, come and sit by me, my dear, and let's have a little quiet chat together. Corbet Kynaston, then? Sir John Packington's courier was here yesterday. The other must call a coach as quickly as he can.
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