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. Re-issued with new cover October 2013. “MY DEAR GIRL,— “I am so sorry if we made asses of ourselves to-night. That's part of the bargain. “But we only aid the beccamorti by giving them our business! I refuse to pay exorbitant prices for wood coffins and burial for lesser servants who could just as easily be dragged into the pit! Let the dead bury the dead!” “You fool! It is the gross lack of sanitation you speak of that has brought us to this very end. Hitherto she had seen it chiefly in pictures and other works of art, incidentally, and as a thing taken out of life. You come with those clear eyes of yours, as valiant as an angel. As it happens sometimes, the idea stepped down from the dream into the reality; and he saw it more clearly now than he had seen it in the dream. ” “You! Why, you have been an angel to her,” he exclaimed impatiently.
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