"I cannot—dare not injure him," rejoined Trenchard, with a haggard look, and sinking, as if paralysed, into a chair. I want you. Why don’t I just go and get the key from Pottiswick?’ Alderley flicked a glance back at him over his shoulder. "My horse has had a fall," replied Jack, assuming to perfection—for he was a capital mimic,—the tones of Quilt Arnold. A maidservant held the front door open. "And I," muttered Jack. " The elderly domestic bowed, took up the case, and retired. Instead, he could not get beyond these minor details—why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whither she was bound. Sometimes I tremble, Anna, to think how near I came to passing through life without a single glimpse, a moment’s revelation of this greatest and most awful of mysteries, the mystery of primaeval nature.
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