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. Turning off again on the left, down Seacoal Lane, they arrived at the mouth of a dark, narrow alley, into which they plunged; and, at the farther extremity found a small yard, overlooked by the blank walls of a large gloomy habitation. You yourself, I am sure, recognize how impossible you have made it for me now to do anything of the sort. “I cannot pretend that I am glad to see you, Lady Ferringhall,” he said quietly. And, mind! no prevaricating—nothing but the truth will satisfy me. And yet, when you offered to help, it was what is to come that I had in mind. “Umph!” he said, and regarded his letter doubtfully before consigning it to the pillar-box. At least I can’t talk to them. “Don’t they look like a pair of young lovers sleeping off a tryst?” He observed. "This will be very comfortable.
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