CHAPTER I. He was always deceived by these rustlings which promised wind and seldom fulfilled that promise. He stood up and she ushered him out of the small room. Thames," she urged, "the errand, on which you're going, can't be for any good, or you wouldn't be afraid of mentioning it to my father. It is only a matter of time before he presents himself to whoever has the deeds to Remenham House—a lawyer I presume—and claims that property for his wife’s. That might happen on her birthday—in August. “Well?” she said, sitting down again. Hold your hand for a moment.
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