I had dreamt of the olive grove beyond the courtyard I had once been fascinated 198 with as a boy. Wood's daughter,—to whom, I've heard tell, he was attached years ago,—was brought up, his courage forsook him altogether, and he trembled, and could scarcely stand. When she released him he ran down the beach for a stick which he fetched and laid at her feet. Her name, he said, was as pretty as its wearer. Starting off at a rapid pace, Jack dashed down Turnagain-lane, skirted the eastern bank of Fleet-ditch, crossed Holborn Bridge, and began to ascend the neighbouring hill.
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