Arrived at Paddington, he struck across Marylebone Fields,—for as yet the New Road was undreamed of,—and never moderated his speed until he reached the city. Darrell stood erect in the bark, with his drawn sword in hand, prepared to repel the attack of his assailants, who, in their turn, seemed to await with impatience the moment which should deliver him into their power. She closed her eyes, discerning the divinations he had been up to during her violin concert. Filled as he was with conflicting emotions, any stretch of silence would be dangerous.
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