" "My penance forbids it," said Trenchard, waving his hand. The young fellow was almost as odd in his way as the girl was in hers. “You ARE a female thing at bottom,” he admitted. I—well, I borrowed Anna’s name. "I understand," replied the stranger, unable to repress a smile. Not a word passed between them. With a small saw, conveyed to me a few days since by Thames Darrell, which I contrived to conceal upon my person, I removed a spike in the hatch, and, with the aid of some other friends, worked my way out. That was the wonder of these stories; one lived in them. ” He stood before her, his hat in his hand, his head bent, his voice lowered to a convenient pitch. Was there anything at all in those locked rooms of her aunt’s mind? Were they fully furnished and only a little dusty and cobwebby and in need of an airing, or were they stark vacancy except, perhaps, for a cockroach or so or the gnawing of a rat? What was the mental equivalent of a rat’s gnawing? The image was going astray. It was good to kiss you, even at the price. "Where is the boy?" demanded Sir Rowland. Anna was afterwards astonished at her own selfpossession.
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