The day was so darkly overcast that she had to turn on the small white porcelain lamp that sat upon the makeup crowded vanity. Everything proclaimed the mischievous propensities of the recent occupants of the chamber. "Fire!—murder—thieves!—I've got one of 'em!" "Come along," cried Jack. Gerald at once rid himself of his own glass and leapt to her assistance. "I am only fit for such as him. " "Pshaw!" cried Thames. Arrived at the audience-chamber, he set down the light upon a stand, threw open the door, and announced in a loud voice, but with the perfect intonation of the person he represented,—"Sir Rowland Trenchard. ” He said. .
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