’ ‘How do you know?’ Lucilla repeated, almost as sceptical as her intended spouse. ‘You are the one that I have met in London. For nothing they kiss. You did not complain then that I personated you—no, nor when Sir John came to me in Paris, and for your sake I lied. At length, he fell down on the road, fully expecting each moment would prove his last. She could hardly remember his face except for his brown hair, thick lips, and narrow dark eyes. Ennison seemed to feel already the shadow of tragedy approaching. Amid this portentous hush, the report of a pistol reached the carpenter's ears; and, raising his head at the sound, he beheld a sight which filled him with fresh apprehensions. "You are," replied Kneebone.
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