" "Not unless your skull's bullet-proof," cried a voice at his elbow; and, as the words were uttered, a pistol was snapped at his head, which,—fortunately or unfortunately, as the reader pleases,—only burnt the priming. ‘I think that was what began his downfall. Annabel, tell me that you did not wish me dead. You have been useful to me, or I would not have spared you thus long. But then you're an adopted son, and that makes all the difference. The Jacobite daws want a scarecrow. ” She laughed. Suppose he stopped all her allowance, made it imperative that she should either stay ineffectually resentful at home or earn a living for herself at once.
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