He is Jacques. David Courtlaw—Sir John Ferringhall. "But what, may I ask, arouses the thought?" The doctor was in high good humour. “You are really a good Samaritan,” she declared. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl.
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