“Lady Ferringhall, sir. He had made himself master of the layout of the house, that was plain. Some years ago, in 1715, just before the Rebellion, I was rash enough to league myself with the Jacobite party, and by Wild's machinations got clapped into Newgate, whence I was glad to escape with my head upon my shoulders. “Oh, yes,” the stranger remarked good-humouredly. ‘Seems to me like you know just about as much as me. ” She smiled at him. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. My feelings overpower me. “Who are you—Annabel Pellissier or her ghost?” Anna laughed. “Do tell me all about it.
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