” “Your priestess,” whispered Ann Veronica, softly. “The things involved in it are,” he answered gravely. "My limbs feel so light, now that my irons are removed," he observed with a smile, "that I am half inclined to dance. Upon what this instinct was based she could not say; she was conscious only of its insistence. Ann Veronica ignored her friend’s confusion. Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year. “Don’t come nearer!” she said. “Who, me? I scare you?” He asked. Wood scarcely knew where he was. Suddenly he stopped short.
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