"Ah! indeed are we, my dear," was the reply. "The royal palace in the Holy Land is prepared for our reception; and this night at nine o'clock does his majesty make his triumphant entry, disguised as a timber-merchant,[94] into that part of his dominions."
"To London!" gasped the Rattlesnake. "Then—then—I cannot accompany you—I——"
"What have you to fear?" demanded Skilligalee. "Have you not me to defend you individually, and his majesty's protection to shield you generally?"
"No—no," returned Margaret Flathers; "I cannot—will not return to London. I hate the place—I detest it—I abhor it! I am not even now as far from it as I could wish—not half."
"Far from it?" ejaculated Skilligalee, with a merry laugh. "Why, you can almost hear the sounds of the cabs and hackney-coaches where we are now."
"What!" cried Margaret. "How far are we from London? tell me—speak!"
"When you are on the top of that place where I found you sleeping early this morning," answered Skilligalee, "you can see Hornsey Wood on the next hill—about two miles off."
"My God! then in spite of all my care last night, I must have gone a strange round," said Margaret, speaking rather to herself than to her companion.
"Ah! I see how it is, Meg," observed Skilligalee; "you are in trouble about that gold. Well—never mind, old gal—so much the more reason for me to protect you. Now I tell you what it is: not all the buzmen in London can find you out at our crib in the Holy Land; and so you shall come along with us, and you shall keep in doors the whole time: we'll take care of you. What do you think of that?"
"Skilligalee," whispered Margaret, "I am not afraid of the police: they don't trouble themselves about me. But there is a certain man that seeks my life——"