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. “You are my friend,” she said, “if any one is. “I had thought to go on to Kandersteg,” said Capes, “but this is a pleasant place. That's my maxim; and it's the maxim of every honest man. I want you to be my wife. "Thanks to you," said the doctor. ” “You have her face and figure,” he muttered. To-night the subtle suggestiveness of those few daring lines, fascinating in their very simplicity, the head thrown back, the half-closed eyes—the inner meaning of the great artist seemed to come to him with a rush.
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