Mr. Kneebone's house, the young man hastened to a hotel in the neighbourhood of Covent Garden, where, having procured a horse, he shaped his course towards the west end of the town. "No Blueskin, I perceive, Sir," he observed, in a deferential tone, as Wild entered the Lodge. Never glance sideways at man. He was never known to err, and was as much dreaded as the jailfever in consequence. "I suppose I was mistaken," returned Gay. Sheppard did not dare to return any answer; but, disengaging herself from his embrace, endeavoured meekly to comply with his request.
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