” “Lady Ferringhall—alone?” Ennison exclaimed. A crutch, with a silver handle, stood by her side, proving the state of extreme debility to which she was reduced. Her little white hand stole across the table. "Why do you ask?" rejoined the other haughtily. Why? Here was a curtain indeed. "Hush!" said she, in a low, but agitated voice; "would you earn this purse?" "I've no objection," replied Blueskin, in a tone intended to be gentle, but which sounded like the murmuring whine of a playful bear. She had not thought anything could equal her despair at that moment.
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