"I don't like leaving you," he pleaded. "You're pale. Your hand's cold.
You look as if you might faint again. Please ..."
"No--no--no," exclaimed Lavinia vehemently. "We must part here.
Good-night."
Vane was loth to let her hand go but she snatched it away and ran off,
turning her head and throwing him a smile over her shoulder--a picture
of natural grace and charming womanly wile and tenderness which dwelt in
his memory for many a long day.
Vane stood watching the fleeting figure until it vanished in the
obscurity of Ludgate Hill and then with a deep sigh turned towards
Cheapside.
"That settles it. I won't write a line for that rascal Curll. I've
promised my divinity and by God, I'll keep my promise."
But the next instant came the dismal reflection that apart from Curll he
hadn't the slightest notion where his next shilling was to come from.
"Tush! I won't think of the dolefuls," he muttered. "'Tis an insult to
the loveliest--the kindest--the warmest hearted--the ..."
He suddenly ceased his panegyric and wheeled round swiftly, his hand on
the hilt of his sword.
Absorbed though he had been in his thoughts of Lavinia, in some
sub-conscious way the sound of footsteps behind him keeping pace with
his own reached his ear. It was no unusual thing for foot passengers to
be set upon and Vane was on the alert. His suspicions were confirmed by
the sight of a man cloaked and with his slouch hat pulled over his
forehead gliding into a narrow passage leading into Paternoster Row.
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