It was also cold, and dark, for there had been no time to light the lantern. Darting down Field-lane, Jack struck into a labyrinth of streets on the left; but though he ran as swiftly as he could, he was not unperceived. ToC Jack was scarcely concealed when the door opened, and the two persons of whom he had caught a glimpse below entered the room. His features were regular, and finely-formed; his complexion bright and blooming,—a little shaded, however, by travel and exposure to the sun; and, with a praiseworthy contempt for the universal and preposterous fashion then prevailing, of substituting a peruke for the natural covering of the head, he allowed his own dark-brown hair to fall over his shoulders in ringlets as luxuriant as those that distinguished the court gallant in Charles the Second's days—a fashion, which we do not despair of seeing revived in our own days. But, I'll expose him. The man looked closely at Anna as she crossed the footway, and as he held her skirt from the wheel he pressed something into her hand. "Farewell!" cried Jack, embracing them. She was aware of people—her aunt, her father, her fellow-students, friends, and neighbors— moving about outside this glowing secret, very much as an actor is aware of the dim audience beyond the barrier of the footlights. "Stay!" interposed Jonathan.
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