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. So, in broken, rather breathless phrases, he told his story; and when he had done, he laid his arms upon the table and bent his head to them. I knew it. "But what is an oath to you!" cried the widow, distrustfully. 1. His curiosity put itself into a question. So, step by step, and hurt by hurt, Ruth was learning that John Smith was John Smith and nobody else. Then it was the woman herself who was changed. “Who’ll mind the baby nar?” was one of the night’s inspirations, and very frequent.
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