I felt—wrapped in thick cobwebs. Ascending the stairs, and conducting them along a sombre gallery, in which Trenchard noticed that every door was painted black, and numbered, he stopped at the entrance of a chamber; and, selecting a key from the bunch at his girdle, unlocked it. “And where,” he asked, “are my rivals?” “Deserters,” she answered, laughing. Next to the receiver was a gang of housebreakers, laughing over their exploits, and planning fresh depredations; and next to the housebreakers came two gallant-looking gentlemen in long periwigs and riding-dresses, and equipped in all other respects for the road, with a roast fowl and a bottle of wine before them. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. The major’s hand stilled. And then, as she answered nothing, “Seeing that we are lovers.
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