The Child of Waterloo, or, The Horrors of the Battle-Field — page 107: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

104 THE CHILD OF WATERLOO. When Mabel saw the coach pass on, she gave a look full of despair and grief as she said: . ‘* Alas! will no one befriend me? Am I, indeed, so far in aa man’s power that no one will stand between me and mis- ery +9 ‘* None, Mabel, none,” whispered the mendicant, as he turned his horse’s head, and again placed himself beside her. Mabel had no power; she felt there was a mystery hanging about her and her destiny, and she thought there was no help; she could not escape. Dejected and dispirited, she sat on the horse, held on one side by the mendicant, and on the other side by his companion, Dashing Ned. ‘‘Now,” said Ned, ‘* we ought to gag her.” ‘‘No,” said the mendicant, ‘‘wethave no need; this little staff, with the brass handle at the top, is a perfect treasure, a complete talisman, There is no need of gagging her, this will gag anybody.” ‘+ It’s a rare B pcg of gag altogether,” said Ned. **So it is. They may as well have it, they are so fond of it.” ‘¢T'o be sure; when shall we beat the Moonrakers? I’m hanged if I can tell where we are.” ‘‘Not far from the road that leads to the right on to the open common.” ‘‘ And a pretty state of fog and mist that will be in, I'll war- rant.” “It may.” ‘It will, you mean.” ‘‘Never mind. Push on, we needn’t trouble ourselves about that; we must go through with it, and I have seen nothing to cause us to shrink, and, py Heaven, I will not.” ‘‘Bravo! You always were an _out-an’-outer; you'll prosper.” “Well, time will show, Ned. I have seen a few things, and we musn’t expect too long a lease. ‘There’s a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft to keep watch.’” ‘‘Oh, yes, Newgate and eight o'clock, Monday morning—how leasant! That will do; you have become jolly all of asudden— jolly disagreeable, I mean: but is this the place ?” ‘Yes, turn up here, Ned,” said the mendicant, with a glance of hatred at his companion; ‘‘ here we are at the Moonrakers.” ‘¢ All right,” answered Ned, not noticing his look. The moon now rose and cast a gentle light upon the scene; the deep-blue vault of heaven was studded with stars; the whole firmament was spangled with these transparant and sparkling luminaries. All was quiet and still. Not a sound disturbed the scene, and the chill night air now and then disturbed the calm- bess of the evening. The Moonrakers’ public-house was a strange old house, of a rambling and indiscriminate kind of architecture; indeed, it occupied a vast extent of ground for such a building—it was ex- tremely rambling, apparently composed of three or four old houses, differing in height, size and make, so that it was some- times difficult to tell which was the one end from the other. Some of it was brick, and some old flintstone, of which there comicbooks. com