"Hear! hear!" vociferated Quilt. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. If they entered a shop, he paused by the doorway, as if waiting for the journey to be resumed. Here he was preparing to leap over the hedge into the fields on the left, when he was intercepted by two horsemen, who, hearing the shouts, rode up and struck at him with the butt-ends of their heavy riding-whips. Be this as it may, though a Catholic, he died a friend to the Protestant succession.
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