He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed. She flew up the covered stairs and knocked upon his door. He understood. "I was right," replied Jack, returning as coolly as if nothing had happened. So, in broken, rather breathless phrases, he told his story; and when he had done, he laid his arms upon the table and bent his head to them. He had died before they married, and when her brother became a widower she had come to his assistance and taken over much of the care of his youngest daughter. He seemed to stay away from her because she was so cold and formal towards him, addressing him as Mister McCloskey as if she were an Irish maid. She sensed he might try and wane on her doorstep.
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