At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. “Lighten up. ‘She won’t like it,’ prophesied the captain gloomily. Mischief bubbled up in her. "You needn't gag me," he added, "I'll not cry out. “She has gone down into the country. "Stolen by a gipsy when scarcely five years old, Constance Trenchard, after various vicissitudes, was carried to London, where she lived in great poverty, with the dregs of society. His complexion was pale; and there was something sinister in the expression of his large black eyes. Yet her hands dropped, and she sighed deeply. Exerting all his energies, and using the bar as a lever, he forced off the iron band, which was full seven feet high, seven inches wide, and two thick, and which brought with it in its fall the box of the lock and the socket of the bolt, leaving no further hinderance.
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