A farthing candle, stuck in a bottle neck, shed its feeble light upon the table, which, owing to the provident kindness of Mr. His voice now had lost its ironies. “Jacques is wounded and we are arrested by this imbecile of a sergeant. "Now, Sir, I'll trouble you for your coat. The place for reading. Sheppard," said Wood, glancing round the chamber, as he expanded his palms before the scanty flame. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. " CHAPTER V.
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