Kneebone assured her that he did say so; and, as a further proof of his sincerity, squeezed her hand very warmly under the table. “I’m sorry Mister McCloskey! I was out seeing my boyfriend!” He stared at her concernedly. My late husband, I mean. That was the wonder of these stories; one lived in them. Whence she came,—who she was,—and what she wanted,—were questions which naturally suggested themselves to Blueskin, and he was about to seek for some explanation, when his curiosity was checked by a gesture of silence from the lady. The great door of the Stone Hall was thrown open, and the sheriffs, preceded by the javelin-men, entered the room.
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