The knight mechanically complied with his request. ‘The man’s gone,’ her old nurse told her, when she had recovered a little. “What have you done?” 212 “It is your own fault, Lucia. “The young lady, I presume, told you that her name was Anna,” he remarked. It was less will than education. “My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. The joy that filled her veins with throbbing fire urged her to rise and go swinging and whirling and dipping. And talking of every conceivable thing. The turnkey looked round the next moment, but the manoeuvre escaped his observation. ‘Eh bien?’ She thrust again, from the same place. David Courtlaw—Sir John Ferringhall. "I've not quite done yet," said Jonathan, as he joined the turnkeys.
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