Anna looked at her, startled. "Impossible!" exclaimed the widow, wildly. Sir Rowland witnessed these proceedings like one stupified. Then it dawned. Gosse sagged under the impact, knocking over the card table, and falling to sit, half stunned, the discharged pistol flying from his slackened grasp. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account. Prom a knot of idlers at a public-house, he learnt that Jonathan Wild had just ridden past, and that his setters were scouring the country in every direction. A fire enveloped her, a fire which was strangely healing, filling her heart with warmth, blotting out the menace of the world. “I’m not in the mood right this instant. Three a week is my allowance, and, if I get short ones, four. A sacrifice.
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