” “And leave you here alone?” he asked, in a hoarse whisper. He looked like a French boy soldier she had once glimpsed marching towards his death in one of the battles they would later call the Hundred Years War. ” Anna hesitated, and then held out the letter. She knew, or guessed his mission too, for more than once their eyes met, and she laughed mockingly at him. I was happy to oblige them, I had grown sick of the heat of the south and all the miserable sun. " "Nor any one else in his senses," rejoined Wood, with a laugh. “You are the Sir John Ferringhall who has bought the Lyndmore estate, are you not?” she remarked.
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