Sheppard looked fixedly at him, as if she would penetrate the gloomy depth of his soul. Montague Hill is. Saviour's Stairs. Urging his steed along Oxford Road,— as that great approach to the metropolis was then termed,—he soon passed Marylebone Lane, beyond which, with the exception of a few scattered houses, the country was completely open on the right, and laid out in pleasant fields and gardens; nor did he draw in the rein until he arrived at Tyburn-gate, where, before he turned off upon the Edgeware Road, he halted for a moment, to glance at the place of execution. A faint buzz above the ceiling witnessed that petrography, too, was active. In vain Wood protested his innocence. He was perhaps forty-five years of age. Her personal maidservant, the first she had ever had in her life, was joyful for her.
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