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. In my search after strange characters, Mr. It was an intimate smell, the unmistakable scent of him and another woman. He could not promise that she would ever appear again in that house. He—wanted to marry me. She stopped eating. She hung about his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleeve timidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words which refused to rise to her tongue. His eyes were fixed upon her face, but he opened his lips twice before he spoke. “I should think YOU could do all sorts of things. She was very pretty.
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