Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. I take it, down where we're going will be nothing new to you. He listened to the thunder of the fall now mingling with the roar of the blast; and, driven almost frantic by what he heard and saw, he pushed with all his force against the stone. A middle-aged countrywoman, plump of cheek, and a little shy. “I can’t imagine what has come over you,” said her aunt. ‘Laisse-moi,’ she threw at him, her brief attack of sobs already ended, although the trace of tears on her cheeks bore witness to its sincerity.
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