" "Be pacified, sweet soul," said Wood, looking meaningly at Thames; "you shall go, and I will accompany you. Just my room. She was not a Christian woman. Nobody can trust you. . . Jack had got into one of the pens at the north side of the chapel. Sepulchre's bell is for ever ringing in my ears—oh!" "If that's the case," observed Wood, "I'm surprised you should like to have such a frightful picture constantly in view as that over the chimney-piece. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside.
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