The folds of a thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash was desperate. “Now replace the stone, my child. How can he help you?” She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpetmerchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his heart beat to music. This was done, and Austin returned with a crest-fallen look to the table. No doubt she was wondering what he had done in Charvill’s house and what he intended now. ‘Well, if the fellow Gosse is still at large, there’s no saying what he will be at next, is there? I see nothing for it but for you to see General Lord Charvill at once.
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