‘I know her, ma’am, but I know next to nothing of her story. Immediately beneath her lay Willesden,—the most charming and secluded village in the neighbourhood of the metropolis—with its scattered farm-houses, its noble granges, and its old grey church-tower just peeping above a grove of rook-haunted trees. ToC Monday, the 31st of August 1724,—a day long afterwards remembered by the officers of Newgate,—was distinguished by an unusual influx of visitors to the Lodge. An uncomfortable silence followed. ‘Quickly! You must get up. . His brows drew a little nearer together.
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