Her name, he said, was as pretty as its wearer. "Trenchard," he muttered; "Aliva Trenchard—they were right, then, as to the name. His throat filled; he wanted to weep. I'll think no more about her. And so is your companion,—the convict Sheppard. She sat very still, and his eyes rested on that ornament for a moment, and then travelled slowly to her wrist and the soft lines of her forearm. “Dear me!” he said. There was only one idea in his head now—to batter and bruise and crush this weakling, then cast him at the feet of his love-lorn wife. ‘Me, I have a name. CHAPTER XIII. . JONATHAN WILD. That added to his puzzle.
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