Urging his steed along Oxford Road,— as that great approach to the metropolis was then termed,—he soon passed Marylebone Lane, beyond which, with the exception of a few scattered houses, the country was completely open on the right, and laid out in pleasant fields and gardens; nor did he draw in the rein until he arrived at Tyburn-gate, where, before he turned off upon the Edgeware Road, he halted for a moment, to glance at the place of execution. ‘You ought to be glad someone cares enough about your wretched little neck to try and save it. "You can no longer refuse to tell me the name of this youth's father, Aliva," he said. His heart hammered in his chest. She liked his face; it had on it the suggestion of gentleness, of fineness.
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