“Why, it’s David!” he exclaimed. There was a lapse of time, an interval of blackness; then he found his hand in hers and she was leading him at a run up the side of the mountain. “I’m being honest with you. Arrived at Westbourne-Green—then nothing more than a common covered with gorse and furzebushes, and boasting only a couple of cottages and an alehouse—he perceived through the hedges the objects of his search slowly ascending the gentle hill that rises from KensallGreen. . “Not much,” he answered, “and yet about all there is to be known, I fancy. “Stop! Don’t put your face there.
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