“You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. Having disposed of his steed and swallowed a glass of brandy, without taking any other refreshment, he threw himself on a couch, where he sank at once into a heavy slumber. One gets drawn into things. In a moment he was beside her. She was shaking violently when she entered the side door of the house. “This is my way back to my side of the Park,” she said. Keeping hold of the doorhandle, she turned slowly. ’ ‘Even that he is, one must be practical. A white man, wandering about the streets of Canton at night, was a challenge to such a catastrophe. Yes, yes; that was all very well in ordinary cases; but yonder was a soul in travail, if ever she had seen one.
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