He looked no longer at his wife. With this view he struck off into a narrow street on the left, and soon entered a small alehouse, over the door of which hung the sign of the "Welsh Trumpeter. The visitors, when they entered, looked thoroughly intimidated and Everett concealed a grim smile. There were all varieties of bird-life known in these latitudes, from the bird of paradise down to the tiny scarlet-beaked love-birds. She was as fair as the lily of the lotus. She studied the face and tried to visualize the body, clothed in the dress which had created the spinsters' astonishment. 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. A thing which had mystified her since childhood, a smouldering wonder why it should be, and until now she had never felt the urge to investigate. Through this, his last trial, Jack's spirits never deserted him.
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