She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. “Perhaps for me,” she added, with a sudden wistful look out of the bare high window, “a night of beginnings. Urging his steed along Oxford Road,— as that great approach to the metropolis was then termed,—he soon passed Marylebone Lane, beyond which, with the exception of a few scattered houses, the country was completely open on the right, and laid out in pleasant fields and gardens; nor did he draw in the rein until he arrived at Tyburn-gate, where, before he turned off upon the Edgeware Road, he halted for a moment, to glance at the place of execution. ‘But how did she meet such a person in a convent?’ ‘He was wounded and came there for sanctuary,’ Gerald explained, adding almost through his teeth. ’ She seemed to recollect herself suddenly.
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