As Jack conjectured, no one was there, and, though a lamp was burning on a stand, they decided upon proceeding without it. Excited by the scene, Jack, however, could pay little attention to the good man's discourse, and was lost in a whirl of tumultuous emotions. The sun lingered, finally dropping beyond the dark canopy of pine trees at the edge of the park. With this view he struck off into a narrow street on the left, and soon entered a small alehouse, over the door of which hung the sign of the "Welsh Trumpeter. He was no match for Brendon. “Perhaps,” she said, “it is the London climate. She would just have to show up and hope for the best.
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