Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. Will you find your destiny, I wonder, or will you go through life like so many others—a wanderer, knocking ever at empty doors, homeless to the last? Oh, if one could but find the way to your heart. ” John greeted him. If she mentioned Ramage he might have a fit—anything might happen. —'How so?' says I. He was into the passage in time to see her slip into another chamber at the end. Wood. “I have heard of you, of course,” Anna answered hesitatingly, “but——” “You cannot imagine what I have come to see you about. We can love on a snow cornice, we can love over a pail of whitewash.
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