But though he visited Sir Rowland Trenchard's seat, Ashton Hall, he could gain no tidings of him, or of his uncle, Sir Rowland, who, it seems, has left the country. Grace-church Street was entirely deserted, except by a few stragglers, whose curiosity got the better of their fears; or who, like the carpenter, were compelled to proceed along it. "All my life I've dreamed of something like this," he said, divertingly, with a gesture which included the yacht. ‘To where has he gone off?’ ‘No use asking me,’ shrugged the captain. She turned away from the doorway of the silk loom to observe.
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