" "Bring your story to an end, Sir," said Trenchard who had listened to the recital with mingled emotions of rage and fear. “Do you play an instrument?” “I play the fiddle sometimes. A few short, dark locks, escaping from beneath her head-dress, showed that her hair had been removed, and had only been recently allowed to grow again. The boy had all kinds of opportunity; but it's the old story of father making it too easy. I was quite as much annoyed as you were to see Mr. He could lose himself for hours at a time. I want you. He swung it open and then used his body to pin her against her seat. Of late, however, his plotting had assumed a more dark and dangerous complexion. She evolved a dim image of herself cooped up in a house under the benevolent shadow of Mr.
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