This one was Henry Esmond, that one the melancholy Marius, and so forth and so on; never any villains. As time wore on, and they did not return, Mr. "Not so;" answered Wild. Arrived at Westbourne-Green—then nothing more than a common covered with gorse and furzebushes, and boasting only a couple of cottages and an alehouse—he perceived through the hedges the objects of his search slowly ascending the gentle hill that rises from KensallGreen. A distant suggestion of chalets and a glimpse of the road set them talking for a time of the world they had left behind.
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