“I am under police surveillance,” she said. I can't spare you at present. "But your dreadful projects will recoil on your own head. I declare I'm almost afraid to go to the door. At the same moment a martial flourish, proceeding from cow's horns, tin canisters filled with stones, bladders and cat-gut, with other sprightly, instruments, was struck up, and, enlivened by this harmonious accompaniment, the troop reached its destination in the best possible spirits for an encounter. But it is not entirely without hope, for perhaps they may find some succour with Charvill.
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