"What have you seen?" inquired Lady Trafford. "It is the fiend!" she exclaimed, recoiling. He had a handsome, jolly-looking face; stood six feet two in his stockings; and measured more than a cloth-yard shaft across the shoulders—athletic proportions derived from his father the dragoon. “She is likely somewhere on the road or perhaps in town, finding victims. ” “You have seen her—since last night?” “Yes. ” Annabel laughed softly. ” Annabel shrugged her shoulders. “I drink your very good health, Sir John and Lady Ferringhall,” he said, “and I wish you a pleasant journey back to England.
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