They were on their way back home, or so she had thought. ‘Is that a gesture of friendship?’ She stamped her foot. " "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard. He recognized me at once, and he behaved like a madman. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. The drawers at the moment were too busy to attend to her, and she would have seized the opportunity of examining, unperceived, the assemblage within, through a little curtained window that overlooked the adjoining chamber, if an impediment had not existed in the shape of Baptist Kettleby, whose portly person entirely obscured the view. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. This did not affect Spurlock. "Remember the devil!" retorted Terence, who had recovered his natural audacity.
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