” “I hope that you may,” Anna answered enigmatically. "Stolen by a gipsy when scarcely five years old, Constance Trenchard, after various vicissitudes, was carried to London, where she lived in great poverty, with the dregs of society. A beachcomber in embryo, and she had lent a hand through habit as much as through pity. She was conscious the whole conversation of Michelle, trying to divine what the girl was planning to do. “Michelle, I think that you are the victim of an extremely overactive imagination. Wood, (for I never do anything without consulting my better half,) I'll take the boy, educate him, and bring him up to my own business of a carpenter. Shall I sew it on for you?" "If you wish. But all those empty years!… My heart was hot. I have never told you so, or Sydney, but I can sing—rather well. The procession had just got into line of march, when a dreadful groan, mixed with yells, hootings, and execrations, was heard.
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