About this time,—namely, in November, 1703— while young Trenchard was in Lancashire, and his sister in London, on a visit, he received a certain communication from his confidential servant, Davies, which, at once, destroyed his hopes. He could hardly open the envelope, he trembled so. “She doesn’t know. " "Of course—of course," returned Wood, hastily; "anything's better than that. She had never been to the opera before except as one of a congested mass of people in the cheaper seats, and with backs and heads and women’s hats for the frame of the spectacle; there was by contrast a fine large sense of space and ease in her present position. " "'Sblood!" cried Jackson, rising, "I can't sit still and hear Mr. ” “It is very hard to explain,” he answered. The first peg was torture. The plank hung over his head. “I think, perhaps if you will excuse me, that we will defer the luncheon. “Can’t stop, thanks,” he answered.
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