‘You cannot mean General Charvill?’ ‘That old martinet?’ exclaimed Roding. ‘Parbleu, how you make me talk!’ ‘Your secret is safe with me, I promise you,’ Gerald said reassuringly. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. Lucy blushed from toes to forehead, feeling her pace accelerate. Not Trodger. "Is she returned!" "Y—e—s, Sir Rowland," stammered Charcam. She attended to that, and then dismissed it as unimportant. He read "The Beachcombers" to McClintock that night after coffee; and when he had done, the old trader nodded.
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