They then clambered over a hedge, and scaling another wall, got into the garden at the back of the house. Her lover, Darrell, has embarked upon the Thames, where, if he's not capsized by the squall, (for it's blowing like the devil,) he stands a good chance of getting his throat cut by his pursuers—ha! ha! I tracked 'em to the banks of the river, and should have followed to see it out, if the watermen hadn't refused to take me. The chance had gone. I have it on my conscience that I offended you—” “Offended me when?” “I’ve been haunted by the memory of you.
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