‘Jacques, do not go!’ Jack gazed steadfastly at the floor. She climbed slowly towards it, keeping close to the hedge side, fragrant with wild roses, and holding her skirts high above the dew-laden grass. Wood could give him no further information respecting Sir Rowland Trenchard than what he had obtained from Kneebone; but begged him to defer the further consideration of the line of conduct he meant to pursue until the morrow, when he hoped to have a plan to lay before him, of which he would approve. She was perfectly aware that the boy had gotten some sort of bug in his craw over her despite her sloppy, strange appearance. On his way he made a slight divergence from the direct route and paused for a moment outside the flat where Anna was now living. Her knees were trembling, her whole frame was shaken with sobs.
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