" "Who are you?" ejaculated Trenchard, scarcely able to credit his senses. But you must not imagine me wrapped in melancholy. Wood was unable to discover the figure of the widow, but he recognised her dry, hacking cough, and was about to call her down, if she could not find the key, as he imagined must be the case, when a loud noise was heard, as though a chest, or some weighty substance, had fallen upon the floor. . . Will you find your destiny, I wonder, or will you go through life like so many others—a wanderer, knocking ever at empty doors, homeless to the last? Oh, if one could but find the way to your heart. "The glass never sinks in that way, d'ye see, without a hurricane follerin', I've knowed it often do so in the West Injees. She has given herself up to social work. Wait a second. You have never seen the child within your arms perishing from hunger, and no relief to be obtained.
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