The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 235: what you’re looking at

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

206 THE COURT OF LONDON she sped nervously on by his side, her heart beating audibly and painfully. Little was spoken between them as they traversed the park in the most cautious manner with a view to avoid observation; but on this score they were compara- tively safe, for the night was tempestuous, the wind had risen, the rain was falling, and few people were abroad. Even the occasional stragglers whom they met, when emerging into Great George Street, and afterward in Bridge Street, little suspected that the gentleman and lady whom they thus passed and who were muffled up in those ample cloaks were the prince regent and his royal sister. When within about a dozen yards of the beginning of the bridge, the prince said, in a hurried voice, ‘‘ You must now cross to the other side of the street, and keep your eyes fixed upon me. The lamplight is strong enough for that purpose. Watch until you see a man join me. Then, ii I keep him in conversation, you may rest assured that it is the ruffian Coffin. In this case lose no time in hastening on to the recess which I have already explained to you, and where no doubt the youth will be seated. Fortunate is it for our enterprise that the night is so inclement. ‘There are evidently but very few persons abroad, and the bridge seems comparatively deserted.” While making this last observation, the prince’s straining eyes followed the curvature of the bridge as it was traced by the double row of lamps, and few indeed were the pas- senger forms that darkened the spaces of light produced by those lamps which were suspended over the massive stone recesses that have only within the last few years been removed from the bridge. In compliance with her brother’s suggestions, the Princess Sophia quitted his arm, crossed the street, and from the opposite side attentively watched his movements. Eleven o’clock was proclaimed by the iron tongue of time sounding from Westminster Abbey, and while the metallic din of the last stroke was yet vibrating in the gusty night-wind, a man enveloped in coarse, rough garments stepped up to the prince. “Tm Daniel Coffin,” he said. “All right!”’ responded his Royal Highness. ‘‘Is the lad there? ”’ “He is, and deucedly puzzled, too, to know what it can be all about.”’ Gomicbdooks (CO)