There was only one idea in his head now—to batter and bruise and crush this weakling, then cast him at the feet of his love-lorn wife. There was nothing to be learned from her face. And the jailers also retired. ‘Ha!’ uttered Captain Roding triumphantly. Dim souls flitted about her, not only speaking but it would seem even thinking in undertones. Wild had evidently discovered the body of Quilt Arnold, and was loudly expressing his anger and astonishment. Skirting the noble gardens of Montague House, (now, we need scarcely say, the British Museum,) the party speedily reached Great Russell Street,—a quarter described by Strype, in his edition of old Stow's famous Survey, "as being graced with the best buildings in all Bloomsbury, and the best inhabited by the nobility and gentry, especially the north side, as having gardens behind the houses, and the prospect of the pleasant fields up to Hampstead and Highgate; insomuch that this place, by physicians, is esteemed the most healthful of any in London. ” “You shall not need either,” Brendon said grimly. Left to Capting Roding, as he told me hisself, you’d be in prison this moment. By this time, the door was unlocked, and drawing his sword, Quilt entered the cell.
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