It was a simple wish. Supper was quickly served; the oldest bottle of wine was brought from the cellar; the strongest barrel of ale was tapped; but not one of the party could eat or drink—their hearts were too full. Mother had forced Lucy to memorize the ingredients of the stews, fairly beating them into her, spanking her backside when she rebelled. She had eaten little or no tea, and her mid-day meal had been worse than nothing. While this was passing, Jonathan had ridden back to Marvel to tell him that all was ready, and to give him his last instructions. But it was only six-thirty. Small wonder she had learned to be self-reliant. "Here, Tom," he added, calling to a shop-boy, "run and fetch a constable. "I release you from your promise. “At a boarding-house?” he gasped.
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