“But about last night. It was not until the morning of the fifth day that the constant vigil was broken. 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. There were doorways to peer into, dim cluttered holes with shadowy forms moving about, potters and rug-weavers. "Farewell!" cried Jack, breaking from them, and rushing down the street. "Now, give me the woollen cloth to tie round my fetters," whispered Sheppard. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent.
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