"Can't you guess?" returned Winifred, throwing her arms about her neck. There's one person in the house whom I wouldn't frighten for the world. I met you here as Lady Ferringhall. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. Her aunt was blandly amiable above a certain tremulous undertow, and talked as if to a caller about the alarming spread of marigolds that summer at the end of the garden, a sort of Yellow Peril to all the smaller hardy annuals, while her father brought some papers to table and presented himself as preoccupied with them. CHAPTER XXII. " "Peace, fool!" cried Marvel, angrily. The fellow Kimble, to whom Gerald was indebted, was gaping.
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