What a mercy that the blow aimed at her by the ruffian, Wild, though it brought her to the brink of the grave, should have restored her to reason! Ah! she stirs. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. No sterner head was ever beheld beneath the cowl of a monk, or the bonnet of an inquisitor. Both, perhaps?’ At that, her eyes darkened with fury. The door leaned inward. Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side.
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