ToC That night Jack walked to Paddington, and took up his quarters at a small tavern, called the Wheat-sheaf, near the green. The terrors and anxieties of the last few months seemed to have fallen from her, to have passed away like an ugly dream, dismissed with a shudder even from the memory. The spinsters had purchased one grass-linen tablecloth; the girl and the young man had purchased nothing. She decided to go on, after a momentary halt. "Shir Rowland Trenchard's affair— eh?" "That's it," rejoined Jonathan; "I expect him here every minute. As soon as they had got out, the vehicle was drawn up at the back of a tree near the cage. All concerned in the dark transaction must have perished.
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