The hansom sped through the crowded streets. Sorry. “Then turn round and go back there,” she directed. ‘It is Yol—’ She broke off abruptly, her face collapsing into an expression of acute consternation. Kneebone, Van Galgebrok, and Baptist Kettleby—all of whom greeted him cordially. It was a charming sight to watch the motions of her tiny fingers as she pursued her task; and though the posture she adopted was not the most favourable that might have been chosen for the display of her sylphlike figure, there was something in her attitude, and the glow of her countenance, lighted up by the mellow radiance of the setting sun falling upon her through the panes of the little dormer-window, that seemed to the youth inexpressibly beautiful. The postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the serving-men made their appearance.
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