No sooner had Trenchard crossed the threshold than a fierce barking was heard at the farther extremity of the passage, and, the next moment, a couple of mastiffs of the largest size rushed furiously towards him. "O Massa Ireton! Massa Wild!" ejaculated Caliban, "Shack Sheppart gone!" "Gone? you black devil!—Gone?" cried Ireton. She gazed with a quiet detachment toward the window and the Oxford Street traffic, and in her heart she was busy kicking this man to death. . C. . " "Poor child!" muttered Trenchard, abstractedly; "the whole scene upon the river is passing before me. She thrashed and screamed as he wrestled her back towards the bed. "I'd rather have given a thousand pounds than this had happened. She tiptoed to the stand and gathered up the manuscripts which she carried to a chair by the window.
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