Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg. She was practically an outcast, she had not even the ghost of a plan as to her future, and she had something less than five pounds in her pocket. ‘What is it?’ ‘Er—shouldn’t I tell—I mean, the young lady, sir—’ ‘You can leave the young lady to me. B. She dreaded living off the land again, like an animal, as she had done for dozens of years at a stretch. After debating with himself whether he should further seek an interview, which, though, now in his power, was so sedulously shunned by the other party, he decided in the negative; and contenting himself with writing upon a slip of paper the hasty words,—"You are known by the villagers,—be upon your guard,"—he gave it to the ostler, with instructions to deliver it instantly to the owner of the horse he pointed out, and pursued his course. There was nothing to be got out of the man. No more. “I have come to tell you this. Ramage tethered the horse to the farther gate-post, and Caesar blew heavily and began to investigate the hedge. “One has to live and learn,” she remarked, with a passable imitation of her father’s manner.
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