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. A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. "'Sblood!" cried Jonathan, who had listened to the foregoing conversation with angry wonder, "I've been nicely done here. "Oh! I see!" replied Blueskin, winking significantly, "Come nearer, or they'll observe us. I am quite sure though that they did not mean to be rude. Spurlock sat limply, his arms hanging. His most eager inquiries and most lavish bribes could gain no further information than that she had left for England, and that her address was—London. His figure was slight, but well-built; and, in stature he did not exceed five feet four.
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