It towered up high above the level of the pass, thousands of feet, still, shining, and white, and below, thousands of feet below, was a floor of little woolly clouds. It was only when they came into a square that daylight had a positive quality. Gazing into each other's eyes with new-found rapture, neither observed the sudden appearance in the doorway of an elderly woman in travel-stained linen. But the figure was evidently too intent on peering within the ballroom to pay any attention to what might be occurring outside. She barely heard a word that Martin or Brown said, until Martin’s voice chimed. The pause lengthened, and he had the satisfaction of seeing despair melt the set mockery of Spurlock's mouth. “Annabel!” she exclaimed. "Your worry is needless. ‘Do not imagine that I will leave poor Jacques.
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