“I did not recognize him,” Anna answered. He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed. At this moment she was staring ahead; and again came the opportunity to study her. Her eyes were soft and grave, and there was the faintest of smiles upon her resolute lips. “It’s precious unromantic. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. “When did you start?” She said between puffs.
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