Will you not, brother?" "Promise," said a deep voice in Trenchard's ear. Notwithstanding the heat of the season,—which was not, however, found particularly inconvenient in this subterranean region,—a large heaped-up fire blazed ruddily in one corner, and lighted up a circle of as villanous countenances as ever flame shone upon. The eldest, Constance, was lost, by the carelessness of a servant, during her infancy, and has never since been heard of: the youngest, Aliva, is the present Lady Trafford. "Wretch!" cried Jack. “I”—he seemed to have a difficulty with the word—“I love you. ‘Dare I suppose that to be of her making?’ Gerald flushed. The man looked hard at him. For four hours he had shifted his own troubles to the shoulders of these imaginative characters.
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