’ Trodger eyed her with suspicion. Some years ago, in 1715, just before the Rebellion, I was rash enough to league myself with the Jacobite party, and by Wild's machinations got clapped into Newgate, whence I was glad to escape with my head upon my shoulders. They are not your flowers. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. You ignore me! That’s not a good way to treat your only friend. My engagement at the ‘Garrick’ terminates Saturday week, and then I am free.
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