On taxing his recollection, the whole circumstance rushed to mind with painful distinctness. YOU did. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. Arrived at the audience-chamber, he set down the light upon a stand, threw open the door, and announced in a loud voice, but with the perfect intonation of the person he represented,—"Sir Rowland Trenchard. Darting quickly to the chest that contained the priest’s vestments, she leapt onto it and reached her arm down to scrabble behind it on the floor.
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