e wind,
Rosamond not caring to speak, and Raymond had quite enough on his
hands to be glad not to be required to talk, while he steered
through the numerous vehicles they met, and she scanned them
anxiously for the outline of Emma's hat. At last they reached
Wil'sbro', where, as they came to the entrance of Water Lane,
Rosamond, through the hazy gaslight, declared that she saw a tax-
cart at the door of the 'Three Pigeons,' and Raymond, albeit
uncertain whether it were _the_ tax-cart, could only turn down the
lane at her bidding, with difficulty preventing King Coal from
running his nose into the vehicle. Something like an infant's cry
was heard through the open door, and before he knew what she was
about, Rosamond was on the pavement and had rushed into the house;
and while he was signing to a man to take the horse's head, she was
out again, the gaslight catching her eyes so that they glared like a
tigress's, her child in her arms, and a whole Babel of explaining
tongues behind her. How she did it neither she nor Raymond ever
knew, but in a second she had flown to her perch, saying hoarsely,
"Drive me to Dr. Worth's. They were drugging her. I don't know
whether I was in time. No, not a word"--(this to those behind)--
"never let me see any of you again."

King Coal prevented all further words of explanation by dancing
round, so that Raymond was rejoiced at finding that nobody was run
over. They were off again instantly, while Rosamond vehemently
clasped the child, which was sobbing out a feeble sound, as if quite
spent with crying, but without which the mother seemed dissatisfied,
for she moved the poor little thing about if it ceased for a moment.
They were soon within Dr. Worth's iron gates, where Raymond could
give the horse to a servant, help his sister-in-law down, and speak
for her; for at first she only held up the phial she had clutched,
and gazed at the doctor speechlessly.

He looked well both at the bottle and the baby while Raymond spoke,
and then said, "Are you sure she took any, Lady Rosamond?"

"Quite, quite sure!" cried Rosamond. "The spoon was at her lips,
the dear little helpless darling!"

"Well, then," said the doctor, dryly, "it only remains to be proved
whether an aristocratic baby can bear popular treatment. I dare say
some hundred unlucky infants have been lugged out to the race-course
to-day, and come back squalling their hearts out with fatigue and
hunger, and I'll be bound that