We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. The expression, however, which would chiefly have interested a beholder, was that of settled and profound melancholy. " "Unconsciously, perhaps," replied Thames. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard.
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