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Springing to his feet in an ecstasy of terror, he stumbled, and had well nigh realized his worst apprehensions. ” “The only Montague Hill I ever knew,” Annabel said slowly, “is dead. The washerwoman reported that she had seen a man one day riding out for an early morning hunt, but was unsure of his identity. ‘That’s wicked, that is. Her hair got loose, her hat came over one eye, and she had no arm free to replace it. ‘Help yourself, Hilary. Good-bye. But I am not indisposed to gratify you. Oh, the scent of the flowers that day, the delicious quiet, the swallows that dived before us in the river.

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