“You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. She explained she was expecting an important interview, and asked that her visitor should be duly shown in. Forgetting her occupation in her anger, she left off bathing Darrell's wrist; and, squeezing his arm so tightly that the boy winced with pain, she clapped her right hand upon her hip, and turned, with flashing eyes and an inflamed countenance, towards her crest-fallen spouse. Or run me through. She had just passed into a little antechamber beyond when she suddenly heard a faint knocking. " "That likeness is the chief cause of my misery," replied the widow, shuddering.
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