She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. Crack went the whip, and away floundered the heavy vehicle through the deep ruts of the ill-kept road, or rather lane, (for it was little better,) which, then, led across Southampton Fields. She let go of him and stood up, straightening herself. Before her stretched blank spaces, dotted with running people coming toward her, and below them railings and a statue. Followed by Van Galgebrok and others of his retinue, he then rushed into the room, where Rowland, Sir Cecil, and their attendants, stood with drawn swords prepared to receive them. But the besetting evil of the place, and that which drew down the severest censures of the writers above-mentioned, was that this spot,—which of all others should have been most free from such intrusion—was made a public exhibition. This is also the ragged edge of the world, too. Seldom they molested a woman who appeared to know where she was going and who kept her glance resolutely to the fore.
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