“Never mind, old chap,” he declared. 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. “I could not have stayed in Paris and waited for news. ‘Well, only look what’s come of it. But some little distance behind him, someone had come out from the shadow of the building and, seeing the Frenchman reappear, darted back again as quickly. There was something which chilled even him in the cold impassivity of her features. It was Celeste’s idea.
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