In the distance a barrel-organ was grinding out a pot pourri of popular airs. He had meant to be master of his fate that evening and it had escaped him altogether. A new thought checked her steps and she froze. ” “Alcide’s songs are not atrocious,” Ennison remarked. \" She said, looking beside him at a taller boy who appeared to be bored. As he crossed this chamber, his foot struck against something on the floor, which nearly threw him down, and stooping to examine the object, he found it was a key. He doesn't resemble you at all. 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.
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