"The Wastrel seemed to take it all right. 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. "Do not endanger yourself on my account," rejoined his mother. ” “He would have been dead before now without it,” the doctor answered shortly. It would make the young wife unhappy. He wiped the sweat from his chin and forehead. "My enemy," replied her son. " "Murder him!" cried Trenchard shuddering. ToC Sir Rowland, meantime, paced his chamber with a quick and agitated step.
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