For a few minutes, Darrell seemed to have the advantage in the conflict. “We have a small studio,” she murmured, “in the Rue de St. It was your sister who married Sir John Ferringhall the other day, wasn’t it?” Anna nodded. The last thing that she remembered was her eyes crossing as she tried to focus upon the crunch of leaves as she lay heaving upon them, dampening them further with the outpouring of her sweat as it leaked from her clothing. Now the pig knew where to find her—for it would not take long for a Catholic to locate the convent in Golden Square—even if she escaped him here. While this was going on, Jack suddenly made a movement which attracted the turnkey's attention; and during that interval the old man slipped some articles wrapped in a handkerchief into Bess's hands, who instantly secreted them in her bosom. Ennison reeled, and almost fell.
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