There was—a service. Creeping stealthily up stairs, unmasking a dark lantern, and glancing into each room as he passed, he was startled in one of them by the appearance of Mrs. "I have hurt you because I would not trust you. ’ ‘As we see. ” “Wherever you like!” he answered, a little absently. Wood was not particularly fortunate in his own matrimonial connections. She stood there limply and did not act to resist him. I wonder if I should have locked you up if I’d been your father. Urging his steed along Oxford Road,— as that great approach to the metropolis was then termed,—he soon passed Marylebone Lane, beyond which, with the exception of a few scattered houses, the country was completely open on the right, and laid out in pleasant fields and gardens; nor did he draw in the rein until he arrived at Tyburn-gate, where, before he turned off upon the Edgeware Road, he halted for a moment, to glance at the place of execution. ‘Imbecile. He stood still, almost breathless. . . When the bell rang, she lagged behind as was her habit.
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