We close the chapter. The postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the serving-men made their appearance. "And now, widow," continued the ruffian, setting down the candle, and applying his lips to the bottle neck as he flung his heavy frame upon a bench, "I've a piece o' good news for you. ‘Very well, arrest me. I'm one of those unfortunate duffers who have too much imagination—the kind who build their own chimeras and then run away from them. "I'd forgotten. Ennison kicked it away with his foot.
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