He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed. "Adieu, my worthy uncle. “Everybody is taking it up,” said Miss Miniver. " "From whom?" vociferated Trenchard. It 163 invariably leads to trouble. " "If you're in earnest," rejoined Blueskin, "give me that bag of gold. “Monsieur would dine! It was very good! And Madame, of course?” with a low bow. ’ ‘You mean the bookroom, miss. 4. The Times slipped from his fingers.
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