“To Hell if we don’t change our ways. 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 Wastrel did not relish this. ’ His face changed, all the humour and tenderness leaving it in an instant. He touched her hand, soft and cool to his fingers—she turned at once to look at him. His spirits began to rise.
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