Second Period Third Narrative - Chapter III

"Aye! aye! and the cure in this instance is to open Rosanna Spearman's
letter, I suppose? Come along, and let's get it."

Early as it was, we found the fisherman's wife astir in her kitchen.
On my presentation by Betteredge, good Mrs. Yolland performed a social
ceremony, strictly reserved (as I afterwards learnt) for strangers of
distinction. She put a bottle of Dutch gin and a couple of clean pipes
on the table, and opened the conversation by saying, "What news from
London, sir?"

Before I could find an answer to this immensely comprehensive question,
an apparition advanced towards me, out of a dark corner of the kitchen.
A wan, wild, haggard girl, with remarkably beautiful hair, and with a
fierce keenness in her eyes, came limping up on a crutch to the table at
which I was sitting, and looked at me as if I was an object of mingled
interest and horror, which it quite fascinated her to see.

"Mr. Betteredge," she said, without taking her eyes off me, "mention his
name again, if you please."

"This gentleman's name," answered Betteredge (with a strong emphasis on
GENTLEMAN), "is Mr. Franklin Blake."

The girl turned her back on me, and suddenly left the room. Good Mrs.
Yolland--as I believe--made some apologies for her daughter's odd
behaviour, and Betteredge (probably) translated them into polite
English. I speak of this in complete uncertainty. My attention was
absorbed in following the sound of the girl's crutch. Thump-thump,
up the wooden stairs; thump-thump across the room above our heads;
thump-thump down the stairs again--and there stood the apparition at the
open door, with a letter in its hand, beckoning me out!