A dreamy sense of content crept over him. Hastening to the spot where he had tied his horse to a tree, he vaulted into the saddle, and rode off across the fields,—for he was fearful of encountering the hostile party,—till he reached the Edgeware Road. ‘The credentials, milor’,’ he ventured. "So, stir your stumps, Saint Giles; and, if you mean to lock us up, use despatch.
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