"Old Morgan the trader," she explained, "used to save me Tit-Bits. Arrived at the audience-chamber, he set down the light upon a stand, threw open the door, and announced in a loud voice, but with the perfect intonation of the person he represented,—"Sir Rowland Trenchard. “Eight pounds,” she plunged, and added foolishly, “fifteen pounds will see me clear of everything. Passing at a glance over the whole of the intervening period; leaving in the words of the poet, —The growth untried Of that wide gap— we shall resume our narrative at the beginning of June, 1715. It's too hard.
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