Annabel had been here then. 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. She had warned him. He remembered also, all at once, the very first words he had heard her speak: “I was not born to this. Dinner was served at 5:30. If ever the denouement came—if ever the Hand reached him—Ruth would then understand why he had rebuffed all her tender advances. He moved, after quiet intervals, with a quick little movement, and ever and again stroked his small mustache and coughed a selfconscious cough. I have always had a secret crush on him, to be honest with you. Knap.
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