“And what was that dreadful confession you had to make?” he was saying. I thought it was a mirror at the first, for it was so very like myself. The fire still burned brightly. Urging his steed along Oxford Road,— as that great approach to the metropolis was then termed,—he soon passed Marylebone Lane, beyond which, with the exception of a few scattered houses, the country was completely open on the right, and laid out in pleasant fields and gardens; nor did he draw in the rein until he arrived at Tyburn-gate, where, before he turned off upon the Edgeware Road, he halted for a moment, to glance at the place of execution. That is why Wall Street broke your father; he was honest. His throat filled; he wanted to weep. But for the next few days he avoided Cheveney like the plague. Ann Veronica woke rather later than usual, and lay awake for some minutes before she remembered a certain resolution she had taken in the small hours. E.
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