She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant. Her voice was weak and flat. "Hold hard," cried he, addressing the waterman; "I'll give the gentleman a lift. Annabel had spoken calmly enough and steadily, but his brain refused at first to accept the full meaning of her words. She shrugged her shoulders. "I would sacrifice all my fortune—all my hopes —to liberate him.
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