" Her utterance was here choked by sobs. "While I live you are safe," rejoined Trenchard; "after my death I can answer for nothing. Did he track her? She was unaware if he did. The little pucker in her brows became more perceptible. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. The wheel and the navigating instruments were sternward, under a spread of heavy canvas, a protection against rain and sun. "It is", seplied Winifred; "have you brought any tidings of Thames Darrell!" "Troth have I!" replied Terence: "but, bless your angilic face, how did you contrive to guess that?" "Is he well?—is he safe?—is he coming back," cried the little girl, disregarding the question. She saw its depraved eyes, but worse were the glittering teeth as it smiled.
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