But though he visited Sir Rowland Trenchard's seat, Ashton Hall, he could gain no tidings of him, or of his uncle, Sir Rowland, who, it seems, has left the country. You are my wife now and you belong to me. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. A fire enveloped her, a fire which was strangely healing, filling her heart with warmth, blotting out the menace of the world. Another picture slid across her vision. The floor was planked with oak, and covered with iron staples, hooks, and ringbolts, with heavy chains attached to them. The turnkey looked round the next moment, but the manoeuvre escaped his observation.
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