And then, for the first time, Wood noticed a small stream of blood coursing slowly down her cheek. "This gash," he added, pointing to one of the larger scars, "was a wipe from the hanger of Tom Thurland, whom I apprehended for the murder of Mrs. Lucy knocked again. " "A short man, isn't he, about your height, Sir,—with a yellow beard, and a face as sly as a fox's?" "Hem!" replied Wood, coughing slightly to conceal a smile; "the description's not amiss. "Who've you got with you?" demanded the Amazon, boldly.
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