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hammered painfully in her breast and her tongue seemed frozen to the roof of her mouth.  She stared at him mutely, at last managing a strangled, "thank you."  Then she was climbing down from the carriage, glancing over her shoulder as she waved goodbye.  On a sudden impulse  she grasped his hand, relishing the firm, strong grip of his handshake.  His touch evoked a longing deep within her.  She was genuinely surprised by the jolt of sweet fire that swept through her veins at such a chaste and common gesture.  She had the crazy impulse to throw herself into his arms, to cling to him for comfort, a temptation that was definitely alarming.  Was that why she  suddenly fled, running as if the very devil was pursuing her shadow?  Only when she was safely within the confines of the Red Feather did she dare to look back, to watch the carriage pull away.  It was then that Dawn made a startling discovery.  She'd left the coin-filled leather pouch behind!  In spite of her dismay, she laughed at the irony of it all.  Then, picking up her crumpled skirts, she made her way toward Seven Dials to find her brother.

Chapter Two
     
     
    The stench of the narrow cobbled street assailed Dawn's nostrils as she hurried from the Red Feather Inn.  After the clean leather and tobacco scented carriage, it was one more reminder to her of  differences between herself and the fine gentleman.  Now she was doubly glad she had declined his offer to take her all the way home.  St. Giles was as different from the Mayfair as night was from day.
    "Blimey," she whispered, "but 'e would 'ave 'ad apoplexy for certaain if 'e caught sight o' these digs."  It was hardly a part of town a man like G.F.S. would frequent.  With a sigh she paused to glance down at the handkerchief he had given her, then put it to her face. The linen smelled pleasantly of leather and spice, his scent. Closing her eyes, she conjured him up: his thick golden brown hair, brilliant smile and piercing blue eyes.  He was the kind of man a girl could dream about.  But never 'ave! she warned herself.  He was as far from reach as a star.  Shaking her head, scolding herself for such fanciful thoughts, Dawn thrust the handkerchief back in the folds of her bodice and continued on her way.
    Dawn passed by a pawnbroker's shop, a second hand clothing store, two gin shops and assorted decrepit dwellings, many with rags or papers stuffed in the broken window panes.  It was a stark contrast to the gentleman's side of town.  Dicing, whoring and gin drinking were activities pursued here with a passion and if any men in suits were to be seen, it was certain they were indiscreet young gents flitting about on the fringes of the underworld to indulge in vice.  Thieves preyed upon these noble rakes.  It was a haunt for hunters looking for quarry.
    "Just think," Black John Dunn always told her, "what good we be doing these blokes.  Turning them to a more diligen t and 'onest waiy of life by teachin' ‘em a lesson.  A good bop on the 'ead, the loss of their purses will maike 'em quit their philandering waiy of life.  They'll be upstanding citizens, they will.  And it's all due to us...."
    Indeed, Dawn thought, a ny man who dared walk this main avenue ran the risk of being robbed of his handkerchief, pocketbook or watch.  Others were even more unfortunate.  Those who put up a squabble often lost their lives.  It was a harsh reality, as much a part of life as hunger and poverty.  That was the way of the world, or so she told herself over and over.
    Black John Dun n had a network of contacts to ensure his own safety--unscrupulous parrish beadles, prison turnkeys, greedy magistrates who helped him thwart those who would see him brought to justice.  In return he gave them cash, liquor or favors in some form or other.  Trading justices, he called it.  Even so, a body had to be careful.  Every now and then a rare honest toff could be found, endangering the thieves with demands of a