He brought me past this house, and I thought I would call and leave your brother’s letter. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. He felt he had raised a storm which it would be very difficult, if not impossible, to allay. "Had I not been the guilty wretch I am," he cried, bursting into an agony of tears, "she would never have died thus. “I’ve been following you for many years. But you must come this way now. The thought of the picture but added to her despondency. " This she did carefully, but inwardly commenting that he was still in the realm of strange fancies. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you so badly,’ he said, still meeting her eyes, unaware that his hold about her hand had tightened a little.
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