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“You seem to be taking our little joke more seriously than it deserves, Ferringhall,” he remarked. But she was not sure just how to reach it. The day was so darkly overcast that she had to turn on the small white porcelain lamp that sat upon the makeup crowded vanity. He ventured to the great gates, and by inserting his gimblets into the wood at intervals, so as to form points upon which he could rest his foot, he contrived, to ascend them; and when at the top, having fastened a portion of his dress to the spikes, he managed, not without considerable risk, to draw up his female companion. "Here's one of the thieves, Sir Rowland!" cried the attendant. " "And what course do you propose to pursue in reference to him?" asked Sir Rowland. “David Courtlaw!” she repeated. Every now and then something familiar in her tone, the poise of her head, the play of her eyes startled him. “I say, Vee. About this time,—namely, in November, 1703— while young Trenchard was in Lancashire, and his sister in London, on a visit, he received a certain communication from his confidential servant, Davies, which, at once, destroyed his hopes. There were swift actions, too: a Kanaka crawled out upon the bowsprit to make taut a slack stay, while two others with pulley-blocks swarmed aloft. He would always see the picture of the huge, raw-boned Dutchman, haranguing and thundering the word of God into the dull ears of South Sea Islanders, who, an hour later, would be carrying fruit penitently to their wooden images.
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