She was a very elegant young woman, slightly taller perhaps than her sister, and with an air of reserved strength underneath her quiet face and manner which Annabel may have lacked. The Jacobite. Darrell stood erect in the bark, with his drawn sword in hand, prepared to repel the attack of his assailants, who, in their turn, seemed to await with impatience the moment which should deliver him into their power. ‘Soi-disant? Then he is not Valade?’ ‘How can I know?’ she countered crossly. ‘Not another caller will I receive this day. He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative.
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