CHAPTER XXIX. Wood scarcely knew where he was. "Ah!" he exclaimed, as the painting was turned towards him. An ill-lined purse is a poor recompense for the risk I have run. " "Most likely," observed Jonathan, with a slight sneer; "the ghost of some highwayman who has just breathed his last in Newgate, no doubt. Wood could give him no further information respecting Sir Rowland Trenchard than what he had obtained from Kneebone; but begged him to defer the further consideration of the line of conduct he meant to pursue until the morrow, when he hoped to have a plan to lay before him, of which he would approve. His father and mother are gone now. . CHAPTER VII.
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