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. I stole away and walked to the railway station. I do swear. It was a letter. What a pig she was. Sheppard looked round, and exchanged kindly glances with several of those who addressed him. All she needed to do was to have a body. She had viewed them askance, and without exchanging ideas with any one else in the world about them. “Diedermayer’s a kiss-ass. Then he lifted the black cloak-like garment from the floor.
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