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. "Too late!" shrieked the lady, falling heavily backwards,—"too late!—oh!" Heedless of her cries, Jonathan passed a handkerchief tightly over her son's mouth, and forced him out of the room. “Of course,” she said diffidently, “this is a boarding-house, although we never take in promiscuous travellers. The girl suppressed a chuckle that would have been inexplicable. Life waits for us. Wood rushed instantly to meet them.
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