There had been fusses and scenes dimly apprehended through half-open doors. The galleries adjoining it were crowded with spectators,—so was the roof of a large tavern, then the only house standing at the end of the Edgeware Road,—so were the trees,—the walls of Hyde Park,—a neighbouring barn, a shed,—in short, every available position. At length, he fell down on the road, fully expecting each moment would prove his last. That, I think, is manifest. Why on earth couldn’t he leave her to grow in her own way? Her pride rose at the bare thought of return.
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