And now, come and sit by me, my dear, and let's have a little quiet chat together. I'll bet you haven't given her a bucket of paint in three years. Lucy crouched by the side of the grave, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth. "I cannot—dare not injure him," rejoined Trenchard, with a haggard look, and sinking, as if paralysed, into a chair. "Take her," cried Jonathan; and, flinging the now inanimate body of the poor widow, who had fainted in the struggle, into the arms of Thames, he leapt through the window, and by the time the latter could consign her to Wood, and dart after him, he had disappeared. He's coming.
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