"Trenchard," he muttered; "Aliva Trenchard—they were right, then, as to the name. "Lost no time on the road—eh!—I didn't expect you till to-morrow at the earliest. The Enschede Bible—the one out of which she read—had been strangely mutilated. You have all the instinctive dexterity of parasites. It was a grand life. If a certain kink in your sense of honour will not permit you to go to her as a lover, go to her as a comrade. Thwart me, and I become your mortal enemy. "Put down your burthen, monster!" shouted Wood, pointing an immense blunderbuss at him. It lay undisturbed in the remotest corner of the recess. But I'll tell e'e what we might do——" The young man heard no more. His shoulders were bent, his face was furrowed with wrinkles.
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