“There are some people,” he said at last, “who seem fated to carry on their shoulders the burdens of other people. Nay, for aught I know, some of them may even now have got scent of me. “I think that I shall be the most unpopular man in London. Before he could draw in the rein, his steed—startled apparently by some object undistinguishable by the rider,—swerved with such suddenness as to unseat him, and precipitate him on the ground. “Sir John,” her aunt repeated, with thin emphasis, “is coming to see your sister. Let me recommend a glass of wine. I next proceeded to Jenny Bunch's, the Ship, in Trig Lane—there I got the same answer. He was angry. “Yes. The scent of cloying pine dust filled the air as floodlights shone eerily through the jungle gym of new wood.
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