" Sir Rowland made no reply, but angrily quickened his pace. We will go to Ostend by the early morning boat and choose a hiding place from there. A vast indifference settled down upon him. The latter seemed inclined to advance and address the former; but suddenly changing his mind, he shouted to his companion in tones familiar to the stranger's ear; and, striking spurs into his steed, dashed off at full speed along the Edgeware Road. "An hour hence, I shall return with the priest," replied Jonathan, striding towards the door. Michelle looked at Lucy's feet, still in the ugly brown loafers she had worn since last year. The night had swallowed him up, but his work on her was done. The ripple of the water against the boat, as its keel cleaves through the stream—the darkling current hurrying by—the indistinctly-seen craft, of all forms and all sizes, hovering around, and making their way in ghostlike silence, or warning each other of their approach by cries, that, heard from afar, have something doleful in their note—the solemn shadows cast by the bridges—the deeper gloom of the echoing arches—the lights glimmering from the banks—the red reflection thrown upon the waves by a fire kindled on some stationary barge—the tall and fantastic shapes of the houses, as discerned through the obscurity;—these, and other sights and sounds of the same character, give a sombre colour to the thoughts of one who may choose to indulge in meditation at such a time and in such a place. Once more he begged; but as Ruth only repeated her sharp command, he spun about and raced toward the jungle. .
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