A slow horror was dawning in his fixed eyes. "I can't," answered Blueskin. “I wonder what he takes me for?” When presently she got down from the stile a certain note of internal conflict, a touch of doubt, had gone from her warm-tinted face. To the poor carpenter it seemed an endless distance. "Well, Sir?" cried the other, eagerly. " "Make good your assertions," cried Trenchard, furiously, "or——" "To the proof," interrupted the stranger, calmly. Had Gosse taken it as he escaped? What could she do? Gosse now knew that she was the daughter of Mary Remenham. “No.
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