But in this posture he fared worse than ever. Lead the lad to suppose that he'll be introduced to Lady Trafford. With me behaving as if everything was infinitely matter-of-fact, what could he do? And just then Heaven sent old Manningtree—I didn’t tell you before of the fortunate intervention of Manningtree, did I? He was looking quite infernally distinguished, with a wide crimson ribbon across him—what IS a wide crimson ribbon? Some sort of knight, I suppose. “I wish this hadn’t turned up to-day of all days. "Write as I dictate," he cried, placing a pen in the jailer's hand and a pistol to his ear. Away up on the hillside was the little country railway station.
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