“Too much sensibility and too cold a heart. "There is another mystery I would have solved," said Trenchard, addressing Wild; "you have told me much, but not enough. Treat me as an elder brother, if you like. Mr. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. Lucy sat beside him. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation.
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