" "You are mocking me, Rowland. Your purpose is done. He found the horse where Thames told him he would find him, mounted, and rode off across the fields in the direction of town. Wood then took to his heels, and never once looked behind him till he reached his own dwelling in Wych Street. " "Dear me!" sympathised Mrs. Give me your hand. He smiled. “It is a secret mission,” she declared. " "Ay, marry," replied Wood, with a look that seemed to say that he did not think it required any surprising skill in the art of divination to predict the doom of the individual in question; but whatever opinion he might entertain, he contented himself with inquiring into the grounds of the conjuror's evil augury respecting the infant.
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