"It's Mrs. Tristan dying and Isolde coming to crown his death. I mean to have you! Don’t frown me off now. Amongst other things, he had just brought down an old laced bavaroy, a species of surtout much worn at the period. No sooner had Trenchard crossed the threshold than a fierce barking was heard at the farther extremity of the passage, and, the next moment, a couple of mastiffs of the largest size rushed furiously towards him. The cry was echoed by twenty different voices. Prepared as he was for a dreadful shock, and with his nerves strung to endure it, Jack absolutely recoiled before the appalling object that met his gaze. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose.
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