"While I live you are safe," rejoined Trenchard; "after my death I can answer for nothing. \"The way they smell,\" said Michelle. Her lover, Darrell, has embarked upon the Thames, where, if he's not capsized by the squall, (for it's blowing like the devil,) he stands a good chance of getting his throat cut by his pursuers—ha! ha! I tracked 'em to the banks of the river, and should have followed to see it out, if the watermen hadn't refused to take me. Well, this is OUR thing. Oh! I'm in such a fluster!" Upon which, she snatched up her fan, cast a look into the glass, smoothed down her scarf, threw a soft expression into her features, and led the way into the next room, whither she was followed by her daughter and Thames Darrell. \"What's that?\" Lucy asked. " "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. " "So it is, child.
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