If you do not help me to read the riddle of yourself, Annabel, I think that very soon I shall be a candidate for the asylum. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. There, that sounds frightfully involved, doesn’t it, but perhaps you can make out what I mean. The loneliness of the place somewhat depressed her. The entrance was concealed between two huge boulders within a clump of trees, and was now so overgrown that no one who did not know of its existence could ever hope to find it. But still she knew they were not right, and at times they became a horrible obsession as of something waiting for her round the corner.
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