” Courtlaw suddenly interposed. . You are my prisoner, murderer. ” “You have not told me yet,” Annabel said, “how it is that you have dared to personate me. A time may come when this little chap will need my aid, and, depend upon it, he shall never want a friend in Owen Wood. She felt a storm of emotion surging up within her. You must know, Sir, when he was a lad, the day after he broke into his master's house in Wych Street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in our church, during sarvice time,—that he did, the heathen. "I am very happy to be of service to you. She felt flattered. "Put down your burthen, monster!" shouted Wood, pointing an immense blunderbuss at him.
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