He hung vaguely for a moment as she passed. ‘I am not a person, Marthe. " "So far you are correct," observed Trenchard; "still, this is no secret. Hastening to the spot where he had tied his horse to a tree, he vaulted into the saddle, and rode off across the fields,—for he was fearful of encountering the hostile party,—till he reached the Edgeware Road. ‘You see,’ he pursued blandly, ‘I lead a life of the most intolerable boredom. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable.
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