"I was afraid it would be so. ” He raised his hand, and they saw that he was holding a small revolver. “No, no,” she cried. One glance through the window at that picturesque head had been sufficient. “My name is Anna Pellissier, sometimes called Annabel. ” But she could not talk freely about love, she found, for all that manumission. This—’ waving an imperious hand in a sweeping arc about the library ‘—is my house. "Where am I?" she cried, passing her hand across her brow. Books! She knew now what had saved her—her mother's hand, reaching down from heaven, had set the giver's flaming eyes upon the covers of these books. ‘Certainly I can prove it.
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