. ’ ‘A pox on the creature,’ swore Mrs Sindlesham, clenching and unclenching her stiff fingers. A wooden balcony in one of the adjoining houses was thronged with ladies, all of whom appeared to take a lively interest in the scene, and to be full of commiseration for the criminal, not, perhaps, unmixed with admiration of his appearance. Indeed, it seemed inevitable that she must clear it up with his assistance, or not at all. " "You do not remember me, I dare say," observed the stranger. ” “He only heard this afternoon,” Sydney continued. She was trying by some wonderful, secret, and motionless gymnastics to restrain her tears.
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