Ennison stood still for a moment, swinging his latchkey upon his finger. I believe he’s divorced. ‘You knew her well, Miss Mary?’ Mrs Ibstock turned at the window. I believe I am doomed to be an old maid. No sooner had Trenchard crossed the threshold than a fierce barking was heard at the farther extremity of the passage, and, the next moment, a couple of mastiffs of the largest size rushed furiously towards him. He well knows that but two lives—those of Thames Darrell and Sir Rowland Trenchard,—stand between you and the vast possessions of the family.
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