" "Keep it," said Trenchard, haughtily. “He is one of our guests—perhaps I should say boarders here, but he seldom returns before dinner-time. “It’s Ennison, isn’t it?” he exclaimed. The Night-Cellar. " He started to pick up a sheet of manuscript, but she pushed him from the table toward the doorway; and he staggered out of the bungalow, suddenly stretched his arms, and broke into a trot. He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. Sheppard reached the debtor's garrison. Oh! you haven't got the key—then I must have it, I suppose.
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