‘Sergeant Trodger is who I am. From the freshness of the stains, which grew more frequent as they approached the adjoining chamber, it was evident some violence had been recently perpetrated, and the carpenter's own blood froze within his veins as he thought, with a thrill of horror, that, perhaps on this very spot, not many minutes before his arrival, his adopted son might have been inhumanly butchered. Her expression was a little changed, less innocent, more discerning. It was enough that she witnessed it and could not go to him. Wood, was much better furnished with eatables than might have been expected, and boasted a loaf, a knuckle of ham, a meat-pie, and a flask of wine. ’ Melusine swung away and moved to stare dully out of the window of the little chapel vestry onto the mews outside.
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