While he was straining every sinew, his foot slipped, and he fell, head foremost, into a deep trench, which he had not observed in the dark. This path, bordered on each side by high privet hedges of the most beautiful green, soon brought them to a stile. In the presence of the husband of his mistress Rollo was always dignifiedly cheerful, but he never leaped or cavorted as he did when alone with Ruth. After all, this could never be the black sheep. " "Who are you?" ejaculated Trenchard, scarcely able to credit his senses. “Maybe I should have stayed home.
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