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Lady Ferringhall listened, and her cheeks grew pale. Horrible!" "Poor soul! her senses are going again," said Mr. The features were indistinct, but was that not a halo of white about it? And the dark shadow below, was that a cloak, or the habit of a nun? Skirting the dancing, from which he had taken a breather—not from lack of energy, but to escape the inanities of the young ladies he had partnered—Gerald made his way to a side door in the saloon and opened it. Here Jack Sheppard was unable to repress an exclamation of astonishment. He accepted the glass of wine, and bowed. A crutch, with a silver handle, stood by her side, proving the state of extreme debility to which she was reduced.
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