Satisfied, as he thought, that he had nothing to apprehend, the boy resumed his task, chanting, as he plied his knife with redoubled assiduity, the following—not inappropriate strains:— THE NEWGATE STONE. Anna picked up an ancient magazine, and began to turn over the pages in a leisurely way. She had lost her nerve, and there was no more freedom in London for her that night. Instead of English villas and cottages there were chalets and Italian-built houses shining white; there were lakes of emerald and sapphire and clustering castles, and such sweeps of hill and mountain, such shining uplands of snow, as she had never seen before. Recovering himself quickly his instinct of self-defence was quicker than his recollection of Anna’s presence. ‘Come, mademoiselle. I want to hammer myself against all this that pens women in.
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