And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. Louis the Fourteenth yet lived, and expectations were, therefore, indulged of assistance from France. "Too late!" shrieked the lady, falling heavily backwards,—"too late!—oh!" Heedless of her cries, Jonathan passed a handkerchief tightly over her son's mouth, and forced him out of the room. "Trenchard," he muttered; "Aliva Trenchard—they were right, then, as to the name. After all, you failed in obtaining the secret from her, Sir Rowland. The spy—if there was one hiding out in the late Jarvis Remenham’s empty house—would be taken unawares. “I know you very well by sight, Sir John. On this fresh outburst of the storm, Wood threw himself instinctively into the bottom of the boat, and clasping the little orphan to his breast, endeavoured to prepare himself to meet his fate.
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