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. " "Wood!" exclaimed Trenchard,—"of Wych Street?" "The same. Remember what the conjuror said. ” She watched his face as he traced his way through these speculative thickets. At this juncture, a cry was raised by a servant from below, that the robbers were flying through the garden. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. And do you, Jack, attend to your work, and mind you don't get into further mischief.
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