The lad hesitated. Infested by every description of vagabond and miscreant, it was, perhaps, a few degrees worse than the rookery near Saint Giles's and the desperate neighbourhood of Saffron Hill in our own time. If he did resemble me, I shouldn't care about him. He sat in much the same attitude, and she stood just as she had stood when he told her she could not go to the Fadden Dance. The darkness prevented the carpenter from discerning the features or figure of the stranger; and the ceaseless din precluded the possibility of holding any communication by words with him. She lied.
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