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. After occupying himself thus for the best part of an hour, he thought Jack must have given him the slip. He was plainly attired in a riding-dress and boots of the period, and wore a hanger by his side. She knew that the next time he caught her she would not be able to free herself. She smiled. Come back—you must come back. Why? Because she knew him in life, because, so long as she could remember, he had crossed and recrossed her vision—Sidney Carton. America, the land of rosy apples and snowstorms, beckoned, and she wanted to fly thitherward. ‘Jacques?’ ‘No. ‘She’s little more than a schoolgirl, just out. ‘Me, I have a name. Her soul was full of the sense of disaster.
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