What do you think, Annabel?” “I don’t think they would,” she admitted. ‘But a spy I am not. There was a couple who disappeared. She hissed in a breath and his eyes met hers. There followed a silence which endured several minutes; or, rather a tableau. “For luck. A pane of glass was shivered by each stone. I give you the plain, unadulterated truth. On that night,—that fatal night,—Winifred crushed all the hopes that were rising in my heart. About this time,—namely, in November, 1703— while young Trenchard was in Lancashire, and his sister in London, on a visit, he received a certain communication from his confidential servant, Davies, which, at once, destroyed his hopes.
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