The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. " "Dear sister——" "I should die happy, if I could behold my child. ” Lucy said. 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. “What are you doing here? How dare you come to my rooms!” The man stepped into the middle of the room. Wouldn't it be fun to see his name on a book-cover some day? He'll go strutting up and down without ever dreaming he owed the whole shot to us.
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