. Sir John and Annabel seated themselves at one of them, and the proprietor himself, a small dark-visaged man, radiant with smiles, came hurrying up, followed by a waiter. Spurling. Arrived at Westbourne-Green—then nothing more than a common covered with gorse and furzebushes, and boasting only a couple of cottages and an alehouse—he perceived through the hedges the objects of his search slowly ascending the gentle hill that rises from KensallGreen. And mind, your life,—more than your life—hangs upon your choice. "How very fortunate it is," he observed, "that I happened to call upon Mr. Tell Lucy about the time you were nine years old and blew up the house, John. He laughed reassuringly.
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