Why don’t you go in? Charvill is there. Having ascertained that Thames was at his heels, he hurried with his ghastly burthen down Seacoal Lane. Still, there certainly was something in the idea of a treaty. Afraid, no doubt, he thought grimly, that her other visitor would leave. She drew up a chair and sat down, putting her palm on the damp, cold forehead. Over an old crazy bedstead was thrown a squalid, patchwork counterpane; and upon the counterpane lay a black hood and scarf, a pair of bodice of the cumbrous form in vogue at the beginning of the last century, and some other articles of female attire.
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