The present divinity of the cellar was a comely middle-aged dame, almost as stout, and quite as shrill-voiced, as the Billingsgate fish-wives above-mentioned, Mrs. ‘You! Tell this fool who is the keeper here to come to me at once. They seem to spend their time yawning and inspecting their neighbour’s dresses through those hateful glasses. She knew that in her new rôle she was as likely as not to be a rank failure. Without care he will die. Wood bore up with great fortitude against the shock, attended the inquest, delivered his evidence with composure, and gave directions afterwards for the funeral, which took place on the day but one following—Sunday. Every eye was fixed upon the prisoner. He looked at her guiltily.
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