From a scout stationed at the northern entrance, whom she addressed in the jargon of the place, with which long usage had formerly rendered her familiar, she ascertained that Blueskin, accompanied by a youth, whom she knew by the description must be her son, had arrived there about three hours before, and had proceeded to the Cross Shovels. “But Sir John?” he exclaimed. Her face scarcely reflected his enthusiasm. ‘You will not guess again?’ ‘No, no, I am quite out of ideas. Things seem to come rather easily. But it must have been something that could show her to be Mary’s daughter. He spoke English with astonishing facility and with a purity which often embarrassed his tourists. Just let him down easy, Lucy.
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