“MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. Wild!" demanded Trenchard, as if he had formed a sudden resolution. Free, there is nothing left to her but the canal. “To begin with, I was—I was in the divorce court. Jack turned away with an aching heart. The next weekend arrived and she made her decision. The only difference between the officers of Newgate and their brethren was, that they had enormous bunches of keys at their girdles, while the latter had left their keys at home. ‘You put that thing away now, missie. The boy was right. "I cannot—dare not injure him," rejoined Trenchard, with a haggard look, and sinking, as if paralysed, into a chair. “I do hope that I shall be able to make it up to you.
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