They were now in a sort of cellar, at one end of which was a door. Jack paused for a moment, and found that his own adventures formed the subject of the ballad. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. Aware of his father's inflexibility of purpose, he set his wits to work to defeat the design. Families had seen their lands seized, their chateaux ransacked or burned, and those unlucky enough to have failed to anticipate disaster, had been murdered or dragged away to gaol. Lucy sighed, finding it odd to switch roles as she had over the past weeks.
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