She came very near that night to resolving that she would return to her home next morning. 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. "Help—I'll hold him!" "Leave her," cried Jack, darting down stairs, amid a furious ringing of bells, —"the house is alarmed,—follow me!" "Curses light on you!" cried Blueskin, savagely; "since you won't be advised, take your fate. That would be fun, eh?" "I wonder if you know how kind you are? You are like somebody out of a book. . ” “Why not?” “Free woman—and equal. ” “No fear!” “Then, as we succeed, it will begin to sidle back to us. Oh, cuss it!” “Eh?” “He said I would. This was no night for the indulgence of dreamy musing. On this side stood the instruments with which the latter piece of pleasantry had been effected,—namely, a bucket filled with paint and a brush: on that was erected a trophy, consisting of a watchman's rattle, a laced hat, with the crown knocked out, and its place supplied by a lantern, a campaign wig saturated with punch, a torn steen-kirk and ruffles, some halfdozen staves, and a broken sword. But that instinct is severely dampened most of the time.
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