“You are the Sir John Ferringhall who has bought the Lyndmore estate, are you not?” she remarked. " "How!" ejaculated Trenchard, starting back and drawing his sword. Your name. ‘I suppose you think I can’t manage it myself,’ had complained Captain Roding sarcastically. From a scout stationed at the northern entrance, whom she addressed in the jargon of the place, with which long usage had formerly rendered her familiar, she ascertained that Blueskin, accompanied by a youth, whom she knew by the description must be her son, had arrived there about three hours before, and had proceeded to the Cross Shovels. ” “Perhaps not,” she answered. The lad looked alarmed.
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