The signal of distress was evidently understood. Having disposed of his steed and swallowed a glass of brandy, without taking any other refreshment, he threw himself on a couch, where he sank at once into a heavy slumber. Arrived at Westbourne-Green—then nothing more than a common covered with gorse and furzebushes, and boasting only a couple of cottages and an alehouse—he perceived through the hedges the objects of his search slowly ascending the gentle hill that rises from KensallGreen. While I have been pestering you, have you heard it? At least, you heard the first act. Lucy blushed from toes to forehead, feeling her pace accelerate.
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