The trio finally arrived home at 3:48 in the morning, and she saw lights that indicated the awareness of some of the nosier Beck neighbors. His revelry, however, was put an end at the expiration of the time mentioned by Jonathan, by the entrance of a posse of constables with Quilt Arnold and Abraham Mendez at their head. In this way he crossed one or two public gardens and a bowling-green,—the neighbourhood of Clerkenwell then abounded in such places of amusement,—passed the noted Ducking Pond, where Black Mary had been frequently immersed; and, striking off to the left across the fields, arrived in a few minutes at his destination. We middle-aged fools and we old fools can no longer dream. His kind eyes were puffy with fatigue.
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