They may love us, but they love us as the slave loves his captor, not as equals. ‘Well she does,’ insisted Miss Froxfield impenitently, and turned to Gerald. " Miserably his thoughts shuttled to and fro in search of what he knew she wanted —a love story. “I knew that you waited at the farmhouse. Blank it was, except for a gate near the bridgehead. It surprised her she hadn’t thought of it before! She tried to explain that she was going to pay him forty pounds without fail next week. Something insisted that those two were mysteriously linked—that the woman knew the man was there. She laughed a little bitterly. It was the day I borrowed a pencil; the day we first spoke to one another. Parbleu, but she was a fool. Instead, God had sent her Sebastianus, a man who had sold his soul to the Devil to gain eternal life, or perhaps he was even the Devil himself. ‘Perhaps I could indeed rescue you if only you would confide in me. Even your family. 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. After rifling the room of everything portable, including some of Mrs.
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