“So am I. Womanhood is sacred to me. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. "Your gratitude will vanish with your danger. He dashed against the screen door before she could catch him and made the veranda. Spurling, for so was she named, had a warm nut-brown complexion, almost as dark as a Creole; and a moustache on her upper lip, that would have done no discredit to the oldest dragoon in the King's service. Plainly. Her likeness to her sister gave him at first almost a shock; a moment afterwards he was conscious of a wonderful sense of relief.
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