“NO!” she said, at last, with something in her voice that reminded Ann Veronica of a sprung tennis-racket. But a middle-aged man like Ramage ought to know better than to draw out a girl, the daughter of a friend and neighbor. “I want to be a Person,” said Ann Veronica to the downs and the open sky; “I will not have this happen to me, whatever else may happen in its place. Lucy stood in front of the piano. You never can tell. Beware of him, my son! Beware of him! You know not what villany he is capable of. No doubt— because he did not understand you—he thought you had run away with someone. And here you are!” Her aunt opened all the fingers of her gloved hand in a rhetorical gesture. “Your father is dead too, I believe,” he continued, “and your mother. The door was closed— locked,—and the pair were heard descending the stairs. Holding down the light, he perceived that the wounded man had risen to the surface, and was trying to clamber up the slippery sides of the well.
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