"What shall we do, Poll?" hesitated Edgeworth Bess. Prom a knot of idlers at a public-house, he learnt that Jonathan Wild had just ridden past, and that his setters were scouring the country in every direction. The unknown, previously so attractive, now presented another face—blank. Suddenly, such a shout as has seldom smitten human ears rent the air. It might have been the moon, or the phosphorescence of the broken water, or it might have been his abysmal loneliness; but suddenly he caught her face in his hands and kissed her on the mouth. They embarked upon an open and declared friendship. ‘Soi-disant? Then he is not Valade?’ ‘How can I know?’ she countered crossly. She felt a cheat and a sneak to his unsuspecting retreating back.
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