Her aunt went off at a tangent. Be this as it may, Jonathan remained the victor; and shortly afterwards,—at the price of a third of his estate, it was whispered,—he procured Trenchard's liberation from confinement. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. You are your own Heaven and your own Hell, Lucy.
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