"By George!" he exclaimed. "What's that you're taking to Sir Rowland Trenchard's?" "Only a box, Sir," answered Sheppard, emptying the glass. The carpenter trembled; for he perceived Rowland's gaze fixed first upon the infant, and then on himself. She could have traded it for gold nuggets and lived like a queen for a few weeks, but she did not. “I wish this hadn’t turned up to-day of all days. "At present under the care of his preserver—one Owen Wood, a carpenter, by whom he was brought up. “I wish they did,” he said, “but they don’t. He saw the expression on the girl's face and understood what it signified, that it was the reflected pattern of his own. Poe is all right, if you don't mind nightmares.
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