“You don’t propose, do you,” she said quietly, “that I should take this man for my husband?” “You can drive him away,” Annabel cried. Wood, however, made known his presence to the individual by laying his hand upon his shoulder. 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. Eggs were procured for her, and she sat out the subsequent emotions and eloquence with the dignity becoming an injured lady of good family. “You can’t imagine,” he said, “what a beastly thing a furtive love affair can be. “I was born there. "The sum which incited the villain to the murder," replied Jack.
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