” The stranger came over to them smiling. 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. McClintock wrote me about you; but all I needed was the sight of your face as it was a moment gone. ‘By traitors I am surrounded!’ ‘Stop talking utter twaddle,’ ordered Roding, marching up to the desk. I thought I’d see Paris, do the thing—like a toff.
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