"Stolen by a gipsy when scarcely five years old, Constance Trenchard, after various vicissitudes, was carried to London, where she lived in great poverty, with the dregs of society. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. "What's all this?" exclaimed Wood in amazement. I'll engage to get the job done by six. A wave of pity went over him—pity for the patient, the girl, and his friend. E. ” For a moment Mr. "That's for myself," rejoined Mrs. I thank God for His sunlight on your face. ‘Poor things. Henceforth Ruth would closely observe her fellow women and note the hang of their skirts. “And think, think”—her voice sank —“of the horrible coarseness!” “What coarseness?” said Ann Veronica.
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