It was like the grin of a fiend, and made my flesh creep on my bones. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. Perhaps because I don’t know. ” Michelle said. He talked in the same style, and pretty nearly in the same language; laughed in the same manner, and coughed, or sneezed at the same time. Bit priggish, isn’t it? And if he only knew it—so absurd. " "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. " "I am not, by Heaven," returned the knight, solemnly.
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