She and Courtlaw drove homewards together. Besides these, there was a sturdylooking fellow, whom he instantly recognised as the honest blacksmith who had freed him from his irons at Tottenham. . It’s no good hiding it any more. Moving room to room it was. 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. Wood's favourite sitting-room, and her image was so intimately associated with it, neither the carpenter nor his daughter could muster courage to enter it before. Jack submitted to this scrutiny with a very bad grace, and vehemently protested his innocence. ’ ‘That was not what I had in mind.
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