“It is about your sister, Lady Ferringhall. But tell me how have you escaped from the confinement in which you were placed—come and sit by me—here—upon the bed—give me your hand—and tell me all about it. Wood then led the way up a rather high and, according to modern notions, incommodious flight of steps, and introduced his guest to a neat parlour, the windows of which were darkened by pots of flowers and creepers. The whole incident was so unexpected that neither Courtlaw nor Brendon were awaiting. He backed away from her. Yes, yes; that was all very well in ordinary cases; but yonder was a soul in travail, if ever she had seen one. Spurling, for so was she named, had a warm nut-brown complexion, almost as dark as a Creole; and a moustache on her upper lip, that would have done no discredit to the oldest dragoon in the King's service.
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