"It is not too late to repair the wrong I have done my nephew," cried Trenchard. Analysis would come later, when the primitive conscience, satisfied, would cease to dominate his thought and action. But such was the violence of his grief,—such the compunction he exhibited, that all but one looked on with an eye of compassion. Here, take this youngster, Terry; my legs are lighter than old Nab's. ’ He added on a teasing note, ‘Though if there’s anything suspicious we can always get the key from Pottiswick. ” Annabel pulled down her veil to hide the tears. . A full-curled wig descended half-way down his back and shoulders; a neckcloth of "right Mechlin" was twisted round his throat so tightly as almost to deprive him of breath, and threaten him with apoplexy; he had lace, also, at his wrists and bosom; gold clocks to his hose, and red heels to his shoes.
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