Again returning to the main road, he passed through Clapton; and turning off on the left, arrived at the foot of Stamford Hill. It was a sort of cooking-room, with an immense fire-place flanked by a couple of cauldrons, and was called Jack Ketch's Kitchen, because the quarters of persons executed for treason were there boiled by the hangman in oil, pitch, and tar, before they were affixed on the city gates, or on London Bridge. The young lady—if she had come in here at all—had vanished. Her father and her husband, who had both been a little pale at their first encounter, were growing now just faintly flushed. It has come,—and sooner than you expected. "Farewell for ever," said Jack, extending his hand to Mrs. ’ Gerald tutted. Courtlaw, Mr.
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