The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. He too looked at the girl, slackened his pace and looked at her again through his eye-glasses, looked over his shoulder after he had passed, and finally came to a dead stop. 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. Plote was sleeping or deaf. Rowland," she added, in an altered tone, "I am certain I shall not live many days. I must go somewhere into hiding, a long, long way off. Her cheeks flushed a dull red. Brendon’s had an awful stroke of luck.
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