For a few minutes, Darrell seemed to have the advantage in the conflict. On a pallet in one corner lay a pale emaciated female. The advanced guard rode on to drive away any opposition, while the main body of the procession crossed the bridge, and slowly toiled up Holborn Hill. "Whose child can this be?" "How the devil should I know!" replied Jonathan gruffly. “Cheveney wouldn’t have anything to say about it, as it happens,” he remarked, a little grimly. He looked the boy over with interest. After a while, he raised his eyes; and, if their glance could have been witnessed at the moment, it could not have been easily forgotten. The red glare fell upon the slimy brick-work, and tinged the inky waters below. ’ ‘Who’s bleeding to death?’ demanded Trodger.
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