Advancing to the middle of the chamber, he halted, drew himself up, and fixed his dark, expressive eyes, on Thames Darrell. Is it so, Annabel?” “I did not know,” she faltered, “anything about you. He was even a little jealous of Sebastian. Winifred, accordingly, left the room, and a servant being despatched to the nearest tavern, soon afterwards returned with a crown bowl of the ambrosian fluid. 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. His progress, however, was checked by loud acclamations, announcing the arrival of the Master of the Mint and his train. "What's the matter?" he cried.
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