Mr. He had recently made Mr. Kneebone, then, sat down to await the arrival of his expected guest. Swiftly following the sound of knocking, she crossed right and passed through a door near the windows—and found herself in the bookroom. He did make her perceive something of the acute, tormenting desire for her that had arisen in him and possessed him. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. To-night all this may seem hard and cruel. "While I live you are safe," rejoined Trenchard; "after my death I can answer for nothing.
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