The gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year. "Was I out of my head?" "Yes. "Quite sorry, my good friend, there should have been any misunderstanding between us," observed the woollen-draper. Truth to tell, more damage had been done in the enthusiastic chase carried out by the militiamen detailed to catch it. And then suddenly—a relief. Arrived at the audience-chamber, he set down the light upon a stand, threw open the door, and announced in a loud voice, but with the perfect intonation of the person he represented,—"Sir Rowland Trenchard. She hurried with Jack as fast as she could to the open door to the passage. Spurlock mused over the previous night. . A distant suggestion of chalets and a glimpse of the road set them talking for a time of the world they had left behind.
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