"Flight is still left me," replied Trenchard. Their colloquy was ended abruptly by the apparition of Miss Klegg at the further door. " "Rot! Mac, what do you suppose the natives used to call her? The Dawn Pearl!" McClintock wagged his Scotch head negatively. She is a woman chosen in youth for her beauty and her intelligence. Jolly nice girl, too. Her lover, Darrell, has embarked upon the Thames, where, if he's not capsized by the squall, (for it's blowing like the devil,) he stands a good chance of getting his throat cut by his pursuers—ha! ha! I tracked 'em to the banks of the river, and should have followed to see it out, if the watermen hadn't refused to take me. You cannot draw.
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