"Halloa!" exclaimed Austin, who had caught a glimpse of her departing figure, "one of the women is gone!" "No—no," hastily interposed Mrs. " "From some of your associates?" "From your uncle, from my uncle,—Sir Rowland Trenchard. Pardon! I wish to say, for your granddaughter, we seek succour. He led her unerringly, pushing her down the narrow stairway that had been the servants’ access to the upper floors, and thence through a small door that led into the chapel. You know the sort of thing. Her father was holding her waist, smiling.
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