“That is very nice of you,” she said. ” It was certain that he was not there. ” Annabel looked down. Gay, the poet, who wrote the 'Captives,' which was lately acted at Drury Lane, and was so much admired by the Princess of Wales. Then he slapped his hand on his desk and looked up with the air of a man struck by a brilliant idea. It still failed in something. While he was thus standing, the flames of his house, which made the whole street as light as day, and ruddily illumined the faces of the mob below, betrayed him to them, and he was speedily driven from his position by a shower of stones and other missiles.
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