" "Traitor!" cried Sir Rowland—"damned—double-dyed traitor!" "Away with him," vociferated Jonathan to his myrmidons, who, having surrounded Trenchard, hurried him off to the coach before he could utter another word,—"first to Mr. " "'Ouns!" ejaculated Terence, in alarm, "would you turn snitch on your old pal, Quilt?" "Ay, if he plays a-cross," returned Quilt. The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. Friday was not a big dinner night at the Beck house. It did not shock her; it amazed her, interested her beyond measure. Never in this world! Let the hotel people take care of him; it's their affair.
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