“My God!” he said at last, with tremendous feeling, and then again, “My God!” Now that this thing was said her mind was clear and calm. "I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly. ‘Still—here? Wasting your—time. Wood,—Winifred fainted in the arms of a female attendant,—and Wood standing beside them almost in a state of distraction. He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed.
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