About this time,—namely, in November, 1703— while young Trenchard was in Lancashire, and his sister in London, on a visit, he received a certain communication from his confidential servant, Davies, which, at once, destroyed his hopes. Why had Ruth married him? A penniless outcast, for she must have known he was that. The lad looked alarmed. "My enemy," replied her son. It rained slightly, and a thick mist gathered in the air, and obscured the beautiful prospect. I shan't let you off a farthing. Stanley?” “I’ve fallen out with my father. Old Bedlam. All the best novels have been written by women, and yet see how men sneer at the lady novelist still! There’s only one way to get on for a woman, and that is to please men.
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