She gathered up the chain, revealing a locket which had lain hidden in her bosom. "It's too late to carry 'em before a magistrate now, Sir Rowland; so, with your permission, I'll give 'em a night's lodging in Saint Giles's round-house. How can he help you?” She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpetmerchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his heart beat to music. Wood. His large, coarse lips drew wider apart. ” “If you tempt me too much,” she said, after a silence, “I shall do it. If I’d meant it, my girl, you’d be dead meat. "He lives at Dollis Hill, a beautiful spot near Willesden, about four or five miles from town, where he has taken a farm. " CHAPTER V.
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