Hurrying down the Haymarket, he was arrested by a crowd who were collected round a street-singer. “I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice. He had not proceeded far when he was alarmed by the tramp of a horse, which seemed to be rapidly approaching, and he had scarcely time to leap the hedge and conceal himself behind a tree, when a tall man, enveloped in an ample cloak, with his hat pulled over his brows, rode by at full speed. The blast shrieked, as if exulting in its wrathful mission. “No, you weren’t bad in the slightest. Startled by this circumstance, he looked around, and perceived that the trap-door,—which has been mentioned as communicating with a secret staircase,—was open. In one of the cabins a man sat on the edge of his narrow bunk.
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