She laid her hand upon his arm. “These are for you. No sooner had Trenchard crossed the threshold than a fierce barking was heard at the farther extremity of the passage, and, the next moment, a couple of mastiffs of the largest size rushed furiously towards him. —'How so?' says I. To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. ‘I think you’ve gone stark, staring crazy. I should like to know how it is concerned with Sir John Ferringhall, and how my presence intervenes. He was leaning against a window frame, his hat in his hand.
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