She regarded the young man coldly. With this view, he hurried to the spot where he had left the post-chaise, and found it drawn up at the road-side, the postilion dismounted, and in charge of a couple of farming-men. Then she fell into a fever of remorse for the habit of bad language she had acquired. "Trenchard," he muttered; "Aliva Trenchard—they were right, then, as to the name. Trust you. Never had he been so intrigued. “I want to be your friend,” he said. "Devil!" cried Jack; "that blow shall cost you your life. Do you live here?" "Not exactly," answered the carpenter. "More than three hundred weight, Sir," replied the man. “No, it was simple. ” “It is Number 8, Cavendish Square,” she answered simply. Or, if you were about to embark upon a nautical career, here was all the information required.
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