About this time,—namely, in November, 1703— while young Trenchard was in Lancashire, and his sister in London, on a visit, he received a certain communication from his confidential servant, Davies, which, at once, destroyed his hopes. And now—Dear! Dear! The dayspring from on high hath visited me. For hours after she had not been sensible to life, only to exquisite echoes. All that I regret are the wasted years, and I am not sure that I regret them.
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