been, and how he dreaded for his daughter the temptations which had
warped her mother's womanhood. 'In any case,' wrote Mrs. Tyrrell,
his sister-in-law, when a year and a half had gone by, 'you will of
course let me have Annabel shortly. I pray you to remember that she
is turned seventeen. You surely won't deprive her of every pleasure
and every advantage?' And the recluse made answer: 'If bolts and
shackles were needful I would use them mercilessly rather than allow
my girl to enter your Middlesex pandemonium. Happily, the fetters of
her reason suffice. She is growing into a woman, and by the blessing
of the gods her soul shall be blown through and through with the
free air of heaven whilst yet the elements in her are blending to
their final shape.' Mrs. Tyrrell raised her eyebrows, and shook her
head, and talked sadly of 'poor Annabel,' who was buried alive.

She walked down to a familiar spot by the lake, where a rustic bench
was set under shadowing leafage; in front two skiffs were moored on
the strand. The sky was billowy with slow-travelling shapes of
whiteness; a warm wind broke murmuring wavelets along the pebbly
margin. The opposite slopes glassed themselves in the deep dark
water--Swarth Fell, Hallin Fell, Place Fell--one after the other;
above the southern bend of the lake rose noble summits, softly
touched with mist which the sun was fast dispelling. The sweetness
of summer was in the air. So quiet was it that every wing-rustle in
the brake, every whisper of leaf to leaf, made a distinct small
voice; a sheep-dog barking over at Howtown seemed close at hand.

This morning Annabel had no inclination to read, yet her face was
not expressive of the calm reflection which was her habit. She
opened the book upon her lap and glanced down a page or two, but
without interest. At length external things were wholly lost to her,