" The Wastrel rushed. Her head ached with a hollow pain. ’ ‘Don’t be too sure,’ said Miss Froxfield darkly, with a mischievous glance at her betrothed. "The gentleman is a stranger to me, Poll," replied the woollen-draper, with increased embarrassment. He has been lodged in every round-house in the metropolis, and has broken out of them all, and boasts that no prison can hold him. " "What faith is to be kept with a felon?" replied the woollen-draper, disdainfully. She made herself serenely unaware of his existence, though it may be it was his presence that sent her by the field detour instead of by the direct path up the Avenue. 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.
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