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" "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. She decided to go on, after a momentary halt. From this spot a road, more resembling the drive through a park than a public thoroughfare, led him gradually to the brow of Dollis Hill. Wild, and his uncle, Sir Rowland Trenchard. ” “It is odd that this man at the hospital should call himself Meysey Hill,” she remarked. She had flung away from her father’s support with the finest assumption of personal independence. " "Here is the sum you bargained for," rejoined Trenchard, flinging a pocket-book on the table; "count it.
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