It was at his side below the breast, hidden by the dark colour of his close-fitting jacket. Deserted by his older companion in iniquity, and instigator to crime, he did not know what might become of him; nor, as we have observed, was the sad spectacle he had just witnessed, without effect. A little table covered with a damask cloth was dragged out. She hung about his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleeve timidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words which refused to rise to her tongue. ‘You cannot mean General Charvill?’ ‘That old martinet?’ exclaimed Roding. If not, I'll take a cheerful glass with you at the City of Oxford, on my way to Tyburn.
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