At this moment, his quick ears detected the sound of footsteps on the stairs. “Now I’ll have what I want from you, wife. Casting a hasty glance at the old and ruinous prison belonging to the liberty of the Bishop of Winchester (whose palace formerly adjoined the river), called the Clink, which gave its name to the street, along which he walked: and noticing, with some uneasiness, the melancholy manner in which the wind whistled through its barred casements, the carpenter followed his companion down an opening to the right, and presently arrived at the water-side. Away off in the fields the bluesmocked peasants bent still at their toil. He was tall and straight, and his expression was good. I presume that I may not kiss you in the street?” “Certainly not, sir,” she replied, laughing. He, who had faced the gale, would have been instantly stifled.
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