She was trying by some wonderful, secret, and motionless gymnastics to restrain her tears. One with the appearance of a bald little gnome yawned agonizingly. He got out in much the same way from the Gatehouse,—stole the keys, and passed through a room where I was sitting half-asleep in a chair. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. She stepped on to the pavement almost before him, and his blood turned almost to ice as he saw that she was not alone. ‘Yes, only that this consolation he had found before he married my mother. "If any one's to blame, it's me.
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