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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. What passed between them I cannot think—I dare not. ” She had not seen or heard from a single one of them since. She turned to Lucilla, a plea in her face. "Oh no—no! You say this to terrify me—to try me. I'm one of those unfortunate duffers who have too much imagination—the kind who build their own chimeras and then run away from them.
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