" "It is not Jack's voice," rejoined Mrs. Her heart full of dread, she dragged on it. The struggle had dislodged the white wimple, which was evidently too large for her, and her black hair broke free, whirling like a whiplash about her head as her hands curled into fists, coming up to beat at his chest, her little teeth bared for attack. There was some justification for her annoyance, for negotiation of the secret passage demanded either a stout heart, or a desperate one. The darkness prevented the carpenter from discerning the features or figure of the stranger; and the ceaseless din precluded the possibility of holding any communication by words with him. ’ Miss Froxfield regarded him in some interest.
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