At length, about three o'clock, as the first glimmer of dawn became visible through the barred casements of the round-house, the rattling of bolts and chains at the outer door told that some one was admitted. In vain did the woollendraper offer to set him free if he would restore the stolen article, or give up his associate, to whom it was supposed he might have handed it. But she did not believe he would do that. The point is, Spurlock was coming along: queerly, by his own imagination. You would want me to be clean, if you gave me a thought, that is. ‘I thought it must be you,’ cried the woman.
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