About this time,—namely, in November, 1703— while young Trenchard was in Lancashire, and his sister in London, on a visit, he received a certain communication from his confidential servant, Davies, which, at once, destroyed his hopes. “I’m a ghoul! So you can become a ghoul? You should settle down, John, get married, have children. Not much. Suddenly he burst into wild laughter; but equally as suddenly something strangled the sound in his throat. At luncheon, on the third day, a thick-set man with a blue jaw smiled across his table at her. His mirth, however, received an unpleasant check; for Abraham, greatly incensed by his previous conduct, caught him by the legs, and pushed him with such violence into the hole that the point of the spike, which he had placed in his pocket, found its way through his clothes to the flesh, inflicting a slight, but painful wound. . . It was impulsive and natural.
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