Chapter VIII “WHITE’S” Northwards, away from the inhospitality of West Kensington, rumbled the ancient four-wheel cab, laden with luggage and drawn by a wheezy old horse rapidly approaching its last days. The carpenter trembled; for he perceived Rowland's gaze fixed first upon the infant, and then on himself. “He is one of our guests—perhaps I should say boarders here, but he seldom returns before dinner-time. ” Lucy sat patiently as she was improved. But she did not speak. Uttering a faint scream, she sank backwards, and would have fallen, if it had not been for the interposition of Blueskin, who, at that moment, staggered into the room with a candle in one hand, and the bottle in the other. 1.
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