“You really couldn’t ride in it,” he said, deprecatingly. "To the world's end," answered Jack, darting after him. "Now, give me the woollen cloth to tie round my fetters," whispered Sheppard. His literary instincts began to stir. 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. No sooner did the vehicle turn the corner of this yard, than Quilt became aware, from the tumultuous sounds that reached his ears, as well as from the flashing of various lanterns at the door of the round-house, that some disturbance was going on; and, apprehensive of a rescue, if he drew up in the midst of the mob, he thought it prudent to come to a halt. .
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