"Speak, or I fire!" "Well, if you will have it, it's Sir Rowland Trenchard. Give me your name, girl!’ ‘Again?’ Mademoiselle rolled her eyes. His wife's portrait had been removed from the walls, and the place it had occupied was only to be known by the cord by which it had been suspended. It was a charming sight to watch the motions of her tiny fingers as she pursued her task; and though the posture she adopted was not the most favourable that might have been chosen for the display of her sylphlike figure, there was something in her attitude, and the glow of her countenance, lighted up by the mellow radiance of the setting sun falling upon her through the panes of the little dormer-window, that seemed to the youth inexpressibly beautiful. It was a serene and charming evening, and twilight was gently stealing over the face of the country. But what the deuce! He was human; he was a machine only when on the hunt.
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