“Drive to 13, Montague Street, cabman,” she ordered. As it was feared that some mischief would ensue, Wild volunteered, if he were allowed a small body of men, to ride forward to Tyburn, and keep the ground clear until the arrival of the prisoner. To these she added the wine and spirits directed, and when all was arranged looked inquisitively at her master. A wrathful God was watching him. She saw it, and checked without thinking. They smelled good, but they no longer smelled like food. But this was not a season in which to be needlessly scrupulous. The daughters, he had hoped, would be their mother’s care. She had to wait some minutes in an outer office, wherein three young men of spirited costume and appearance regarded her with ill-concealed curiosity and admiration.
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