Accompanied by Sir Cecil, who still continued passionately enamoured of his sister, and to whom he represented that she had fallen a victim to the arts of a seducer, he set off, at fiery speed, for the metropolis. The thing rankled in her mind night and day. “Drive to 13, Montague Street, cabman,” she ordered. His cheeks were puffy, and his eyes blood-shot. In this way he crossed one or two public gardens and a bowling-green,—the neighbourhood of Clerkenwell then abounded in such places of amusement,—passed the noted Ducking Pond, where Black Mary had been frequently immersed; and, striking off to the left across the fields, arrived in a few minutes at his destination. . She began to want to lay her head down on his chest but absolutely denied herself. The Master of the Mint. A glance sufficed to show the young man how matters stood.
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