"I think you're all bewitched," she cried. It was the gallows. " "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard. ” He said happily. Few men could have done as much. There is some deep treachery hidden beneath his words. Mr. Her figure, though slight, had all the fulness of health; and her complexion—still pale, but without its former sickly cast,—contrasted agreeably, by its extreme fairness, with the dark brows and darker lashes that shaded eyes which, if they had lost some of their original brilliancy, had gained infinitely more in the soft and chastened lustre that replaced it.
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