He had adroitly captured her and led her away from her other guests on the pretext of feigning an interest in her charitable attitude to the newly arrived French. While the watermen were contending with the eddies occasioned by the fall below the bridge, Jonathan observed a perceptible shudder run through Trenchard's frame. The doctor had sown a seed, carelessly. Be on your guard. “I wish you and I had drunk that love potion,” he said. If he adhered to this policy—to keep away from her inconspicuously—she would forget the name by night, and to-morrow even the bearer of it would sink below the level of recollection. “It is not an easy matter,” he said, “for me to offer you an altogether adequate explanation. At length she hit upon it: bubbling water.
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