It was an odd little encounter, that left vague and dubitable impressions in her mind. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. “Excuse me a moment. The Trenchard estates will likewise be mine, for Sir Rowland is no more, and the youth, Thames, will never again see daylight. He looked up to see an ancient coach making its ponderous way down the street. Moored to the steps, several wherries were dancing in the rushing current, as if impatient of restraint.
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