" After making several ineffectual attempts to keep himself above water, Sir Rowland sunk, and his groans, which had become gradually fainter and fainter, were heard no more. "The gentleman is a stranger to me, Poll," replied the woollen-draper, with increased embarrassment. First-off, he had decided not to tell her what he had found at the bottom of that manila envelope. Hurrying down the Haymarket, he was arrested by a crowd who were collected round a street-singer. " "Why, surely you can't be in earnest, Captain. "A vow," she answered,—"a vow to my dead husband. “There is my aunt,” she said. Next moment, she had shut the bookshelf panel upon him. She was standing before a window, against the background of the rain-burdened April sky. ‘I only wish I might have won her confidence. Do you know whoso portrait this is?" "I do not," replied Thames, repressing his tears, "but I believe it to be the portrait of my father. 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.
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