It was high afternoon, there was no great throng of footpassengers, and many an eye from omnibus and pavement rested gratefully on her fresh, trim presence as she passed young and erect, with the light of determination shining through the quiet self-possession of her face. Ann Veronica tried to seem absolutely unconcerned. You think you will. Ann Veronica blushed. "Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom. " "We shall have a durty night on it, to a sartinty, landlord," observed an old oneeyed sailor, who sat smoking his pipe by the fire-side. As she looked in this direction, the thief-taker raised his eyes—those gray, blood-thirsty eyes!—their glare froze the life-blood in her veins. Sheppard, hastily; "is that the name?" "Ay, ay, now I look again it is Trenchard. I'm glad to recognise you. .
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