The hope that had been suddenly kindled in the youth's bosom was as suddenly extinguished. “Won’t you have some more tea, Mr. I won't keep you long. His glance came up again and met hers. How can he help you?” She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpetmerchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his heart beat to music. We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage. ” He asked questions and listened to her views for a time. He made some obvious comments on the wide view warming toward its autumnal blaze that spread itself in hill and valley, wood and village, below. " "I am almost afraid to utter it," said Kneebone; "but Thames Darrell is murdered.
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