” “Then condemn me to Hell. " "I wish I could, Joan," returned the carpenter, sadly. Wood, in a whisper, as he filled a rummer to the brim, not to forget the health of the Chevalier de Saint George—a proposition to which the lady immediately responded by drinking the toast aloud. But for me it doesn’t matter. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. At the bottom of the trunk was a large manila envelope, unmarked. She battled with a deadly faintness, and she tottered rather than walked back to her seat. They crossed the street, and entering the front door passed up the outside stone steps of the flat.
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