" "Poor child!" muttered Trenchard, abstractedly; "the whole scene upon the river is passing before me. What she had termed illuminative now appeared to be only another phase of the mystery which enveloped the child. Unless it was a jewel or locket of some kind. The tiles lay a foot thick in the road. The boy she had loved was gone. The ruffian's companions took his part. The girl was flushed with excitement, bright-eyed, and braced for a struggle; her aunt had never seen her looking so fine or so pretty. Wood laughed louder than ever. He seemed to stay away from her because she was so cold and formal towards him, addressing him as Mister McCloskey as if she were an Irish maid. She felt her forehead repeatedly break out in a light sweat. But seriously ——” “Well seriously?” “Isn’t it your own fault a little? Why do you not tell me your address, and allow me to call upon you. He appeared to be a stranger to the prisoner, and the sole motive of his visit, curiosity. It must be somewhere hereabouts.
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