” Horace, the manservant, transformed now into the semblance of a correctly garbed waiter, threw open the door. With a view to raise recruits for his corps, the warlike woollen-draper started for Lancashire, under the colour of a journey on business. “We should get out of here. ‘I would read your body,’ he whispered, and lifted her fingers to his lips. At length, about an hour before dawn on the second day—Sunday—having spent the early part of the night in watching at the gates of the robbers' sanctuary, and being almost exhausted from want of rest, she set out homewards. The spikes almost touched the upper part of the hatch: scarcely space enough for the passage of a hand being left between their points and the beam. His suspicions at first fell upon you.
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