Do you know whoso portrait this is?" "I do not," replied Thames, repressing his tears, "but I believe it to be the portrait of my father. He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed. I have always been lonely. But men are so careless, there's no trusting anything to them! However, I must try to brazen it out. But "fine" is the word. He was safe, out of the beaten track, at last really comparable to the needle in the haystack. She wanted to come, and I wouldn't let her. This purse," he added, chinking it in the air, "and this ring, were given me for him just now by the lady, who made a false step on leaving your house. ’ ‘I suppose you want to take her along as well as that infernal stolen horse?’ said Hilary sarcastically.
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