For
the rest, be hoped he had been punished enough, seeing her rascally
groom--and once more his lordship laughed peculiarly--had but
just failed of breaking his arm; it was all he could do to hold
the reins.
CHAPTER XXXIV: AN OLD ENEMY
One Sunday evening--it must have been just while Malcolm and Blue
Peter stood in the Strand listening to a voluntary that filled and
overflowed an otherwise empty church--a short, stout, elderly
woman was walking lightly along the pavement of a street of small
houses, not far from a thoroughfare which, crowded like a market
the night before, had now two lively borders only--of holiday
makers mingled with church goers. The bells for evening prayers were
ringing. The sun had vanished behind the smoke and steam of London;
indeed he might have set--it was hard to say without consulting
the almanac: but it was not dark yet. The lamps in the street were
lighted, however, and also in the church she passed. She carried a
small bible in her hand, folded in a pocket handkerchief and looked
a decent woman from the country. Her quest was a place where the
minister said his prayers and did not read them out of a book: she
had been brought up a Presbyterian, and had prejudices in favour
of what she took for the simpler form of worship. Nor had she gone
much farther before she came upon a chapel which seemed to promise
all she wanted.
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