He’s out in Phoenix last I heard. Goodbye. "Mr. “I suppose all life is an affair of chances. “Thank you—and good-bye. "What have you seen?" inquired Lady Trafford. “Annabel,” she said brusquely. That it provided proof of the girl’s identity was one thing. One glance through the window at that picturesque head had been sufficient. Her glance, absorbing the gilt letters and their significance, communicated to her poised body a species of paralysis. Mike chimed in. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand.
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