‘Certainly I can prove it. Wood heard the cry. How can he help you?” She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpetmerchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his heart beat to music. "There's an old proverb," continued Wood, rising and walking towards the fire, "which says,—'Put another man's child in your bosom, and he'll creep out at your elbow. I next proceeded to Jenny Bunch's, the Ship, in Trig Lane—there I got the same answer. I want to know more about her. Instead, God had sent her Sebastianus, a man who had sold his soul to the Devil to gain eternal life, or perhaps he was even the Devil himself. ‘Oh, dearie me, you make me feel a traitor.
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