My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. Her thoughts were deflected from Vivie Warren by the peculiar behavior of a middle-aged gentleman in Piccadilly. " "By those who've conspired with me?" "No! by those who've entrapped you! You've long eluded our vigilance; but we've caught you at last!" "Damnation!" exclaimed the woollen-draper; "that I should be the dupe of such a miserable artifice!" "It's no use lamenting now, Captain! You ought rather to be obliged to us for allowing you to pay this visit. She was about to rush to his side, when she saw his clenched hands rise and fall upon the sand repeatedly. Fortunately, I've secured the proof of my birth. Oh, John.
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