ToC On the night of Friday, the 26th of November, 1703, and at the hour of eleven, the door of a miserable habitation, situated in an obscure quarter of the Borough of Southwark, known as the Old Mint, was opened; and a man, with a lantern in his hand, appeared at the threshold. The sun was all but gone now, the horizon a deep shade of purple. Earles?” he inquired. Her eyebrows, pulled down by the stress of thought, now resumed their normal arches; and pleased with her discovery, she smiled. “In five minutes I shall be ready. ” Her heart had warmed toward him. “You appear,” she said, without any sign of anger in her tone, and with unruffled composure, “to be a very impertinent person. They were silent for a time. Kneebone was attired in the extremity of the mode. “That is my dream of you,” said Manning, warming.
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