It was Annabel who spoke. The wedding procession passed on, and the cynical rabble poured in behind. ToC Nearly nine years after the events last recorded, and about the middle of May, 1724, a young man of remarkably prepossessing appearance took his way, one afternoon, along Wych Street; and, from the curiosity with which he regarded the houses on the left of the road, seemed to be in search of some particular habitation. It was the very spot from which his poor mother had gazed after her vain attempt to rescue him at the Mint; but, though he was ignorant of this, her image was alone present to him. ‘His wife? Pah!’ ‘You’re saying she is not his wife?’ ‘I am saying nothing. That is quite as far as I mean to tempt Providence to-night. “You see the pointer?” he asked.
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