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One of the coolies held the paper lantern. "No such thing," rejoined the jailer; "he's coming on business. Quite trying of him not to be there when he is wanted. He drew a little breath of relief. Here was one of those Americans who would make him breathless before sundown. And Lady Trafford having been carried down stairs, and placed within it, the postboy drove off, at a rapid pace for Barnet. "The worst house in the neighbourhood—the constant haunt of reprobates and thieves," groaned Wood. About noon, next day, he was able to move; and the gale having abated, he set out homewards with his little charge. She could not speak.
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