‘At me,’ she uttered, holding her own pistol high and aiming it steadily. “I heard the other day that she’d been taken in by some cad of a fellow who was cutting a great dash in Paris, personating Meysey Hill, the great railway man. In one of the big gates was a little door, and she rapped at this. " "You do not remember me, I dare say," observed the stranger. ” He spoke a little nervously. Some years ago, in 1715, just before the Rebellion, I was rash enough to league myself with the Jacobite party, and by Wild's machinations got clapped into Newgate, whence I was glad to escape with my head upon my shoulders.
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