The sun was rising, illuminating the trees in black as if they were drawn in ink. Her figure was, in some measure, hidden by a large scarf, and a deep hood drawn over the head contributed to her disguise; still it was evident, from her lofty bearing, that she had nothing in common, except an interest in their proceedings, with the crew by whom she was surrounded. ‘You won’t get a thing out of her. “If one half of the stories about Meysey Hill are true,” he answered, “I would not stretch out my little finger to save his life. ‘Now see here, missie. CHAPTER VIII.
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