” “Have I done something wrong? Should I take you home?” “No. ‘I want a word with you, my lad. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. You'll be wasting his time. Wood, I desire you'll put on your best things, and join us as soon as possible. John turned toward the short staircase as she alit upon the first creaky step. The ruffled chemise-front under the wide lapels of her waistcoat and jacket no longer quivered, and her pose, with the full cloth petticoat spreading about her, was relaxed. Perhaps he had heard of this Enschede. He mumbled an apology and then stopped short. . Sheppard was no sooner alone than she fell upon her knees by the side of the couch, and poured forth her heart in prayer.
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