" "Ah. God help me. She was obliged to concede that his features were pleasing, his strength and vitality attractive; and there was no denying how well this uniform of a militia suited his figure, which was lean and powerful both. Oh dear!—oh dear! Be careful of him," she added to her husband, "and get it over quickly, or never expect to see me again. "Oh, God! would you take him from me?— would you murder him?" "His father's name?—and he is free," rejoined Rowland, holding her arms. ” “Out with it, then,” he cried, almost roughly. Why? He could preach the Word and deny Love!—tame the savage heart, succour broken white men!—pray with his face strained with religious fervour! The idea made her dizzy because it was so inexplicable. She threw out a hand to stop herself from cannoning into them and, losing balance, tripped over her own petticoats and fell to the carpeted floor, her hat falling off as she did so. ‘Do you at least know how he came to be in a position to cheat Miss Charvill, and to pass off his wife in her place?’ ‘In her place?’ There was no mistaking the boy’s ignorance of this part of the tale. " "Sir Rowland Trenchard!" echoed Jack, in amazement. "Don't stir," replied Jack.
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