" The stranger said nothing, but hastily brushed away a tear. The poor wretch, driven by desperation to the commission of a crime which her soul abhors, is no more beyond the hope of reformation than she is without the pale of mercy. But he had now lost the precise spot; and thinking he had examined the drain, turned his attention to another quarter. It began to rain, a cold sweat of precipitation that was more sickly than refreshing. "I know not—and care not," replied Jack. There it is. 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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