It is to take place to-night. Cathy stood in the bedroom hallway in her faded blue bathrobe. And most of the others she had met had, she felt, the same steadfastness. "I half suspect this is a highwayman," thought the Jew; "he's so ready with his cash. He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed. I'm sorry. Even an unlikely episode such as this could not be ignored.
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