Arrived at the audience-chamber, he set down the light upon a stand, threw open the door, and announced in a loud voice, but with the perfect intonation of the person he represented,—"Sir Rowland Trenchard. If you talk of your faults, I shall talk of your splendors. You simply can’t. She lived, he noted, very carelessly. Then light footsteps became audible, descending the staircase with a certain deliberation and a faint rustle of skirts. Ah, and put him under if he wakes up. ‘The credentials, milor’,’ he ventured. She is no longer mine; she is yours. How Jack Sheppard was brought back to Newgate. Curses light on the horse!" he added, seizing the bridle of his steed, who continued snorting and shivering, as if still under the influence of some unaccountable alarm; "what can ail him?" "I know what ails him, your honour," rejoined the groom, riding up as he spoke; "he's seen somethin' not o' this world.
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