"Get up, then," said Jack, freeing his foot from the stirrup. Nigel Ennison, Annabel. He was accompanied by a young man of about seven-and-twenty, who carried his easel, set it in its place, laid the canvass upon it, opened the paint box, took out the brushes and palette, and, in short, paid him the most assiduous attention. " "To-morrow will be too late," replied the widow, in a hollow voice, "I feel it will. I'm not quite such a greenhorn as Shotbolt, Jack, whatever you may think.
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