A few feet away, across the low vases of pink and white roses, sat Annabel, more beautiful to-night perhaps than ever before in her life. Her long incarceration at the convent in Blaye had taught her to be dismissive of her own appearance. “I have brought you very nearly to my door. . It is one of God’s laws that a woman may defend her honour, even with the shedding of blood. ” He did not look at her. He called to the other attendant, who held the torch. He slapped his knee. “Come,” he said, “you can’t be meaning to bury yourself.
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