Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction. ‘If it is that your men there are going to arrest us, then why do they not do so?’ ‘Left to myself, I’d let them,’ he replied grimly. The entire city seemed to exist for beauty and art alone. Here he halted; and, looking upwards, read, at the foot of an immense sign-board, displaying a gaudily-painted angel with expanded pinions and an olive-branch, not the name he expected to find, but that of WILLIAM KNEEBONE, WOOLLENDRAPER. "This letter will vouch for me that a communication has taken place between your enemies. Ruth loved him.
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