Sheppard, as a storm of furious voices resounded from below, and torches were seen mounting the stairs; "they are coming!—they are coming!—fly!—to the roof! to the roof. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. " He drew down the lamp and blew it out, and followed her into the night, more lovely than he had ever imagined night to be. If he laid his own suspicions boldly before the girl, and in the end the boy came clean, he would always be haunted by the witless cruelty of the act. " No sooner had Wood crept through the window, than nature gave way, and he fainted. “You are so sweet, Lucy.
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