From the portals of the hotel—scarcely fifty yards from the canal—one saw the blank face of the ancient city of Canton. Had it come already? Chapter XXVII JOHN FERRINGHAM, GENTLEMAN “Confess, my dear husband,” Annabel said lightly, “that you are bewildered. Winny, this is the last night I shall pass beneath your father's roof. The ceiling had, in many places, given way; the laths had been removed; and, where any plaster remained, it was either mapped and blistered with damps, or festooned with dusty cobwebs. Directly in range stood the strange young man, although he was at the far side of the loft.
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