It was too good to be true. Anna watched her from the windows, watched the carriage jolt away along the cobbled street and disappear. She was clad in fresh linen, but still wore the riding-habit she had appropriated, having sponged out the spots of blood late last night and left it to dry in the kitchens. It was a long walk she had to undertake, even if she had endured no previous fatigue, but feeble as she was, it was almost more than she could accomplish. This individual apparently met with some impediment to his further progress; for he had not proceeded many steps when he turned suddenly about, and darted up the passage in which Wood stood. And thus he was once more free, having effected one of the most wonderful escapes ever planned or accomplished. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. “Your little flag of pride must flutter down with the rest of them, Ann Veronica.
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