"Oh, lud! what's that?" exclaimed a female voice, from an adjoining room. 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. “My dear,” she said, when she could get her breath, “you must come home at once. Pah!’ She flounced about and, crossing to the bed, plonked down on it, pointedly averting her face and resting the large pistol in her lap. Do help me, Lady Ferringhall.
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