"You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester. You can do anything you please. I can esteem him, regard him; but, love him as he ought to be loved—that I cannot do. “You had only to ask——” “Do you think,” Anna interrupted, with a note of passion trembling also in her tone, “that I would have taken alms from Sir John, the man to whom I had lied for your sake. For the first time in her life she had heard music; the door to enchanted sounds had been flung wide. Where else could she go?’ ‘And there aren’t too many of them around,’ agreed Hilary on a gloomy note. I've already told you I'm about to take a long journey, and it's more than probable I shall never return. His slightest move caused her infinite pleasure. He felt no pain from this cowardly kick.
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