” She said. Tears flowed in rivulets down 121 her cheeks and she began to cry. " "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard. “As if it could possibly matter what such a person thinks of you. Kneebone, whose interest was not inconsiderable with the leaders of his faction, obtained an appointment as captain in a regiment of infantry, on the conditions above specified. Wood fared still worse. That a longing of hers should be realized in this strange fashion was difficult to believe: it vaguely suggested something of a trap. She bolted awake in the large bed which was awash in a sea of silks, furs, and red curtains. " "My dear," observed Wood, "you should be more charitable—" "Charitable!" repeated his wife, "that's your constant cry. Gay, the poet, who wrote the 'Captives,' which was lately acted at Drury Lane, and was so much admired by the Princess of Wales. Even that he sleeps, I must give to him my thanks, for he has been excessively brave for me. She turned away from the doorway of the silk loom to observe. Her steps slowed. “After all, why should he be surprised?” she remarked. .
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