"Heaven have mercy on his soul!" ejaculated Wood. Spurlock began to munch his water-chestnuts. ‘The credentials, milor’,’ he ventured. . . He had found her in a communicative mood, and he used the accumulated skill of years in turning that to account. She munched her bland Whopper as he wolfed three in a row, stuffing his mouth with half a dozen French fries at a time. Over the sea of heads arose a black and dismal object. They mean something. The vault, in which Sir Rowland found himself, resembled in some measure the cabin of a ship. " The patient was asleep. "The Dawn Pearl!" he said, making to recline again. 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.
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