"But, where's the strange gentleman I saw under the table?" "Under the table!" echoed Blueskin, winking at Jack. A chill rain thrummed against the sides of John’s car, having slowed from deluge to steady patter, the snow was 158 dissolved where it lay. " "Holloa! my hearty!" cried Ben, starting to his feet. “She can’t go now. “You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. But be very careful not to let him know. An uncomfortable silence followed. “His stipend forbade it,” she said, and seemed to fall into a train of thought. I did not choose to mention my knowledge of this fact to your worthy father; but you may rely on its correctness.
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