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. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. “And of course you are my niece just as Annabel is, although I am sorry to learn that your conduct has been much less discreet than hers. ” John peered at her as she went to him. “We can be alone?” She inquired. Of course, it was ridiculous, this inclination to assist the fugitive, based as it was upon an intangible university idea.
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