"Trenchard," he muttered; "Aliva Trenchard—they were right, then, as to the name. Then she sang. The light was poor, so that she saw their gleaming faces dimly and indistinctly. He was scarcely concealed when he heard the horsemen, who perceived they had overshot their mark, ride back. "Where are you going?" she asked. She crushed the letter in her hand.
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