Full twenty highwaymen blithe and bold, Rattled their chains in that dungeon old; Of all that number there 'scaped not one Who carved his name on the Newgate Stone. Even given that he was hopelessly enamoured of the wench, a fact which was obvious to the meanest intelligence. ‘Certainly no one will find it. She moved a little nearer to him. His back was no sooner turned, than she slipped this casket into the box. She produced from the depths of her pride the ugly investigatory note of the modern district visitor. Mr. She had lost her nerve, and there was no more freedom in London for her that night.
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