He was keen to get to work, but the inspiration would not come. Hold your hand for a moment. The estates must, ere long, revert to Sir Rowland. “Just at present my mind simply won’t take hold of this at all. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. 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.
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