CHAPTER XVIII. " "More blood! more blood!" cried Trenchard, passing his hand with agony across his brow. He addressed her by that title, and something in the tone disturbed her. "Here's a cross-bite. My work will be all sufficient. He had a handsome, jolly-looking face; stood six feet two in his stockings; and measured more than a cloth-yard shaft across the shoulders—athletic proportions derived from his father the dragoon. ” “Maybe I should stay away. A thing which had mystified her since childhood, a smouldering wonder why it should be, and until now she had never felt the urge to investigate. From her stomacher, to which it was attached by a multitude of glittering steel chains, depended an immense turnip-shaped watch, in a pinchbeck case.
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