Anna’s face was half turned from him, but her expression, and the tone of her monosyllable puzzled him. Uttering a few inarticulate ejaculations,—for he was completely out of breath,— the fugitive placed a bundle in the arms of the carpenter, and, regardless of the consternation he excited in the breast of that personage, who was almost stupified with astonishment, he began to divest himself of a heavy horseman's cloak, which he threw over Wood's shoulder, and, drawing his sword, seemed to listen intently for the approach of his pursuers. "Won't you take these?" For a space he merely stared at her, perhaps wondering if she were real. He hadn't gambled or played the horses or hit the booze back there in little old New York…. He lives near the Black Lion.
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