I spent agonizing weeks wandering Mantua in search of you, finally arriving at the idea of asking someone who you were. "Who, then?" demanded Jack. Urging his steed along Oxford Road,— as that great approach to the metropolis was then termed,—he soon passed Marylebone Lane, beyond which, with the exception of a few scattered houses, the country was completely open on the right, and laid out in pleasant fields and gardens; nor did he draw in the rein until he arrived at Tyburn-gate, where, before he turned off upon the Edgeware Road, he halted for a moment, to glance at the place of execution. I wanted something alive. "My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly.
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