"That's it!" cried Wild when Trenchard concluded. "I didn't carry you off from old Wood to kill you, but to wed you. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. She was guided into the dock and prompted by a helpful police inspector. If he adhered to this policy—to keep away from her inconspicuously—she would forget the name by night, and to-morrow even the bearer of it would sink below the level of recollection. She was wholly unable to conceal her knowledge of his presence. . F. I don’t feel it. It was one of those old sliding trap affairs, narrow and steep of descent. Retreating as quickly as he could, Jack opened the first door he came to, entered a room, and searching in the dark for some place of concealment, fortunately discovered a skreen, behind which he crept. It’s all nonsense. Who was he?” “Intriguing.
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