“You little wretch!” she exclaimed weakly. At length, he fell down on the road, fully expecting each moment would prove his last. In the adjacent apartment Ann Veronica found a middle-aged woman with a tired face under the tired hat she wore, sitting at a desk opening letters while a dusky, untidy girl of eight-or nine-and-twenty hammered industriously at a typewriter. The person caught hold of his arm, and, in spite of his efforts to disengage himself, detained him. The relationship seemed to have almost as much to do with blood and body as a mortgage. But things that a girl of sixteen may do in short skirts are not things to be done by a young lady of twenty-one in fancy dress and an opera-cloak, and just as she was coming unaided to an adequate realization of this, she discovered Mr. Concealed among the trees that edged the estate grounds, the watchers paused. "Thames!—Thames!" cried Winifred, rushing to the window. Upon the pavement near the court lay the porter, who had been prostrated by a blow from the butt-end of a pistol. But though he visited Sir Rowland Trenchard's seat, Ashton Hall, he could gain no tidings of him, or of his uncle, Sir Rowland, who, it seems, has left the country.
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