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Part 8 “Why should I ever come back?” she said to herself, as she went down the staircase. Soldiers were stationed at different points of the street to keep off the mob, and others were riding backwards and forwards to maintain an open space for the passage of the procession. Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. McClintock's was a plantation of ten thousand palms, yielding him annually about half a million nuts. To preserve herself, however, from destitution, or what she considered worse, she wedded a journeyman carpenter, named Sheppard. I care not. He saw her young and graceful back as she descended from the carriage, severely ignoring him, and recalled a glimpse he had of her face, bright and serene, as his train ran out of Wimbledon. Her recent attitude towards him was undoubtedly a pose. The Procession to Tyburn. Descending the hollow, or rather excavation,—for it was an old disused clay-pit, at the bottom of which the cottage was situated,—he speedily succeeded in arousing the ancient sibyl, and having committed Edgeworth Bess to her care, with a promise of an abundant reward in case she watched diligently over her safety, and attended to her comforts till his return,—to all which Black Mary readily agreed,—he departed with a heart lightened of half its load. In a moment his grasp grew weaker.

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