" "Norris!" gasped Lady Trafford, trembling violently. 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. Dim souls flitted about her, not only speaking but it would seem even thinking in undertones. He did not know what her game was, although he had a shrewd suspicion that she had been co-opted into it by her supposed husband, the soi-disant Valade. But Darrell averted his head. He was out of breath, and spoke in broken sentences. In his condition the boy apparently had been as safe as in the lock-up. She bent down. ' That has always haunted me. What’s your name?” He asked in return.
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