Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. . No sooner had they entered the room than Sharples, who waited to usher them in, hastily retreated, closed the door, and turning the key, laughed loudly at the success of his stratagem. She thought of her father in the garden, and of her aunt with her Patience, as she had seen them—how many ages was it ago? Just one day intervened. Wood chanced to be murdered by Blueskin, the fellow who just left the room, on the very night of his return, as it has thrown the house into such confusion, and so distracted them, that he has had no time as yet for hostile movements. " "Blessings upon him!" cried Lady Trafford, fervently. And then all her restlessness was turned to joy.
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