The houses were older, the shops gloomier, and the thoroughfare narrower, it is true; but the bustle, the crowd, the street-like air was the same. He looked at it eagerly, but made no movement to take it. “He is Annabel’s husband,” she reminded him. Again having recourse to the centre-bit,—for Winifred's door was locked,—Jack had nearly cut out a panel, when a sudden outcry was raised in the carpenter's chamber. One is always familiar with the business of one’s neighbours. The only circumstance which served to awaken a darker feeling in his breast was, that his implacable foe Jonathan Wild had survived the wound inflicted by Blueskin, and was slowly recovering. She could not look at him through an interval that seemed to her a vast gulf of time.
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