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" "My writing! no such thing!" ejaculated the lady, casting a look of alarm at the woollen-draper. ’ He received a glare from his captive. He looked at it eagerly, but made no movement to take it. With a cry of triumph, he rose, the sword hilt grasped in his fingers, the point swishing up towards her. She ran from the knave into the women’s quarters. Once she stopped in front of a mirror and looked at herself thoughtfully. She recovered herself, however, with amazing facility. Horribly skinny he was, and short too. Arrived there, their first object was to seek out Davies, by whom they were conducted to the lady's retreat,—a lone habitation, situated on the outskirts of Saint George's Fields in Southwark. It was no use.
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