She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. By the old regulations, the free use of strong liquors not being interdicted, a tap-house was kept in the Lodge, and also in a cellar on the Common Side,—under the superintendence of Mrs. She saw now that it was not a dissipated face; it was as smooth and unlined as polished marble, which at present it resembled. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. ‘You don’t mind if I sit down?’ She considered him a moment, her head a little on one side.
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