“It is very good of you to come and see me, my dear sister,” Annabel remarked, throwing herself into a low chair, and clasping her hands over her head. He could not doubt it. " "Why, what'll you do?" demanded the turnkey. "Rowland, your violence is killing me," she returned, in a plaintive tone. How could she tell him what indeed already began to puzzle herself, why she had borrowed that money at all? The plain fact was that she had grabbed a bait. There was every indication that she fled the island in company with a dissolute rogue. He smiled complacently. The clouds were nearly black with rain, threatening to spill sleet in daggers and torrents. .
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