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. ” He smiled bitterly as he handed her from the cab. He glanced up at the coachman. “You’re not a man for me—not one of a sex, I mean. They're only just gone, mercy on us! what a clatter," she added, as the knocking was repeated more violently than before. ‘Give me that!’ He took his finger away from her neck and made a grab at the handkerchief. Whence she came,—who she was,—and what she wanted,—were questions which naturally suggested themselves to Blueskin, and he was about to seek for some explanation, when his curiosity was checked by a gesture of silence from the lady.
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