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From this spot a road, more resembling the drive through a park than a public thoroughfare, led him gradually to the brow of Dollis Hill. She cried out with the pain of it. “Is it any one you know?” Brendon asked. ‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her. With a loud shout, and headed by a powerfully-built man, with a face as black as that of a mulatto, and armed with a cutlass, the rabble leapt over the barricades, and rushed towards the vehicle. "I could have sworn I saw him enter this passage.
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