I tried to get across the terrace and onto the bridge to introduce myself, but the crowds did not part and I lost you. She stared at him. The first time, I overlooked the offence; but the second time, when I had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,—Wood, the carpenter of Wych Street,—he betrayed me. Listen to me, Winifred. He was content to watch her accepting compliments and gaudy bouquets full of red roses, white carnations, and purple statice. He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. 1724 THE PRISON-BREAKER.
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