The lad had just barely jangled it, when hurrying footsteps could be heard inside. I saw the metal box a hundred times, but I never thought of opening it until the day I fled. There was all the knavery, and more than all the drollery of a Spanish picaroon in the laughing eyes of the English apprentice; and, with a little more warmth and sunniness of skin on the side of the latter, the resemblance between them would have been complete. Wood in the deepest mourning. Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. It wouldn’t be you.
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