About this time,—namely, in November, 1703— while young Trenchard was in Lancashire, and his sister in London, on a visit, he received a certain communication from his confidential servant, Davies, which, at once, destroyed his hopes. “I want a plain word with you about all this. By-the-bye,” he added, in a suddenly altered tone, “I hope, I trust—that you have not entered into any arrangements with any one here?” “I—oh no!” Anna said, a little faintly. He might solve the riddle. She had started wearing the dresses he bought for her, the white and blue shift he said, “brings out the color in your eyes”. She drew up a chair and sat down, putting her palm on the damp, cold forehead.
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