She hung about his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleeve timidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words which refused to rise to her tongue. "And someday let him care for me!" She sprang up, alarmed. “A thick-set, coarse-looking young man, Anna!” she exclaimed in a hoarse excited whisper. Arrived at the audience-chamber, he set down the light upon a stand, threw open the door, and announced in a loud voice, but with the perfect intonation of the person he represented,—"Sir Rowland Trenchard. CHAPTER XVIII. He gripped the window-sill behind him. All in a moment. Not if I read her aright. She would not forgive me. His natal burr was always in evidence when he was sentimentally affected. Wood thought them both remarkably plain, but Mr.
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