He was placed in a coach, handcuffed, and heavily fettered, and guarded by a vast posse of officers to Temple Bar, where a fresh relay of constables escorted him to Westminster. Take it, I tell you. "My limbs feel so light, now that my irons are removed," he observed with a smile, "that I am half inclined to dance. Then we can loiter and gossip to our heart’s content. He—In fact, he—he locked me in my room. The packets were hastily broken open; and, while Wood was absorbed in the perusal of the despatch addressed to him by Sir Rowland, Thames sought out, and found the letter which he had been prevented from finishing on the fatal night at Jonathan Wild's. She was wholly unable to conceal her knowledge of his presence. Unless—would he hide from them as he had hidden from her? It was a big house, he said. Prudence reminded him that he was a county magistrate, and parliamentary candidate for a somewhat difficult borough, where his principal supporters were dissenters of strict principles who took a zealous interest in his moral character. She guarded her mother, or at least she had liked to think so. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. .
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