"You are an angel," she cried, with a look beaming with delight. Mr. Manning. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. For a pity, she has chosen to remain, and it has been her death. . "I cannot—dare not injure him," rejoined Trenchard, with a haggard look, and sinking, as if paralysed, into a chair. I believed that she was my wife, or she would have been safe from me. He was almost frightening in silhouette, his hair uncontrollable under the best of circumstances, but that changed when you saw his face.
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