It was his purpose to complete four or five stories before he sent any away. 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. “I shall be waiting for you there, and in the meantime, if you will help yourself—pray don’t look like that. ” Ennison turned round sharply. He tried to make love to me. “My God! Ann Veronica,” he said, struggling to keep his hold upon her; “my God! Tell me—tell me now—tell me you love me!” His expression was as it were rapaciously furtive.
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