At the end of two long lines of foot-guards stood the cart with a powerful black horse harnessed to it. “Now,” he said, “no one can blunder in upon us. He learnt that his sister was privately married—the name or rank of her husband could not be ascertained—and living in retirement in an obscure dwelling in the Borough, where she had given birth to a son. You are not playing to-night, are you?” “Not to-night,” she answered. "Too late, master," replied the landlord of the Trumpeter, in a surly tone, for he did not much like the appearance of his customer; "just shut up shop. If you don't conquer this disgraceful propensity in time, you'll soon come to want; and then nothing can save you. The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping—she had gathered them.
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