Beyond was an avenue of tall poplars that rose like columns, disappearing into undulating hills that were black with sleeping houses and fertile soil. “I believe that you are right,” he said softly. Manned by a couple of watermen, who rowed with great swiftness, this wherry dashed through the current in the track of the fugitive, of whom it was evidently in pursuit, and upon whom it perceptibly gained. May I do so to-day?” “It’s your gate,” she said, amiably; “you got it first. She was alone, and the mask of her unchanging high spirits was for the moment laid aside. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. But then—Oh! Madam, there are moments—moments of darkness, which overshadow a whole existence—in the lives of the poor houseless wretches who traverse the streets, when reason is well-nigh benighted; when the horrible promptings of despair can, alone, be listened to; and when vice itself assumes the aspect of virtue. And that would spoil it.
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