Inside was Anna, leaning a little forward to watch the passers-by, bright-eyed, full to the brim of the insatiable curiosity of youth—the desire to understand and appreciate this new world in which she found herself. He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed. Rushing towards the entrance of the well-hole, Blueskin touched the secret spring. Anything in the least irregular is like poison to him. She handled it half fearfully, and set it carefully down again. She wished she could steal his smiles and keep them in a box, they had always been so precious. "Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it.
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