" "Poor child!" muttered Trenchard, abstractedly; "the whole scene upon the river is passing before me. The militia offered little in the way of relief. To many in that crowded solitude it came as an extraordinary relief. "What's all this?" exclaimed Wood in amazement. She looked paler than ever; but her countenance, though bewildered, did not exhibit the alarm which might naturally have been anticipated from the strange and perplexing scene presented to her view. ” “Has my sister been unkind to you?” “The family,” he declared, “has not treated me with consideration. "There's an old proverb," continued Wood, rising and walking towards the fire, "which says,—'Put another man's child in your bosom, and he'll creep out at your elbow. And nowhere could I obtain the slightest information. I couldn't accept anything from you. They are not your flowers.
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