He held down the light, and a moment afterwards beckoned, with a blanched cheek, to Rowland. She shook her head. Giles's church, the bell of which continued tolling all the time, passed the pound, and entered Oxford Road, or, as it was then not unfrequently termed, Tyburn Road. ‘Espèce de bête,’ she snarled. She had learned this art in skirts, and knew well how not to be disadvantaged. Sheppard's dress—extremely neat and clean, but simply fashioned, and of the plainest and most unpretending material,—offered nothing assailable; and her demeanour was so humble, and her looks so modest, that—if she had been ill-looking—she might, possibly, have escaped the shafts of malice preparing to be levelled against her.
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