The noise was raucous. Listening at one of the doors leading to the Master Debtors' side, he heard a loud voice chanting a Bacchanalian melody, and the boisterous laughter that accompanied the song, convinced him that no suspicion was entertained in this quarter. He was draining a glass, and as he set it down he shuddered. And then! a garment that was conceivably a secondary skirt. A woman touched him lightly on the arm, and smiled into his face. Red velvet curtains rustled under dim lights as the door shut with a heavy snap. She had been quite convinced that an engagement with him and at last a marriage had exactly that quality of compromise which distinguishes the ways of the wise. Why do you look so sad?” She opened her eyes wider and stifled her emotions. 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.
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