"That's it!"—eagerly. “Your mother was a Gypsy. " "Anything, my dear," replied Wood, "What is it?" "Bury us together in one grave in Willesden churchyard. None of this by-play escaped Ruth, whose sense of humour needed no developing. A little within stood a second door, or rather wicket, lower than the first, but of equal strength, and surmounted by a row of sharp spikes. At length, about three o'clock, as the first glimmer of dawn became visible through the barred casements of the round-house, the rattling of bolts and chains at the outer door told that some one was admitted. “These are the sort of things that aren’t supposed to happen.
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