“Very well,” said Ann Veronica, with an air of concluding the discussion. Wild was formerly an agent to the Jacobite party, but, on the offer of a bribe from the opposite faction, he unhesitatingly deserted and betrayed his old employers. Her figure was perfect,—tall, graceful, rounded,—and, then, she had deep liquid blue eyes, that rivalled the stars in lustre. To hand the key back in silence was like offering a lie. Guiding this man of hers over the troubled sea of life had engraved these lines. I’ve a dread of love dropping its petals, becoming mean and ugly.
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