About this time,—namely, in November, 1703— while young Trenchard was in Lancashire, and his sister in London, on a visit, he received a certain communication from his confidential servant, Davies, which, at once, destroyed his hopes. He was a bad dog; he knew it perfectly; but where there was laughter, there was hope. And a right set-to there were betwixt him and Mr Jarvis, I can tell you. "Perhaps you don't know that this Darrell so contrived matters, that your child should be mistaken for his own; by which means it had a narrow escape from a tight cravat, I can assure you. We may meet—who can tell? But I will not be fettered, even though you would make the chains of roses. She savored the sweetness of his lips, all of his great youth and passion and longed for his innocence, his complete lack of the knowledge of terrible things.
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