His pride, however, would not suffer him to interfere with their proceedings; much less could he bring himself to acknowledge that he had been in the wrong, and entreat Lady Trafford to remain, though he was well aware that her life might be endangered if she travelled by night. And in this fact lay his danger. Behind them stalked Blueskin, enveloped in a rough great-coat, called—appropriately enough in this instance,—a wrap-rascal. “But if you knew anything of that—” “I did. "I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly. You simply can't get good oil down there, so I must husband the few drams I carry.
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