The agony on the sands now ceased to puzzle her. ” “Isn’t it enough that I love you? Turn me now. I'm almost sorry I've sworn to hang you. "You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester. Oh, peste, he will ruin all. No sterner head was ever beheld beneath the cowl of a monk, or the bonnet of an inquisitor. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. "And now, widow," he continued, "attend to the next verse, for it consarns a friend o' yours. Presently he caught her puzzled glance, and recollected himself, turning on the charm again. Perhaps she would have to charge this man and appear in a police-court next day. The great gray boles of the palms reminded him of some fabulous Grecian temple. With a faint view of overtaking them the pursuer urged his steed to a quicker pace. God would have taken mercy on her baby, seeing that she had already had too much pain and that he had taken her beloved mother.
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