He uttered a short laugh. All seemed infected with Austin's terrors except Mrs. He backed away from her. It was now getting dusk, and he could only imperfectly distinguish the features and figure of the stranger. All at once he saw a way out of the threatening doldrums. She wished that the drive would never end, but it was only three miles after all. Cowering in a corner upon a heap of straw sat his unfortunate mother, the complete wreck of what she had been. I shall know what to say to him when he comes. “You are the Sir John Ferringhall who has bought the Lyndmore estate, are you not?” she remarked.
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