While he was meditating flight in this way, and tossing about on the straw, he chanced upon an old broken and rusty fork. 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. ‘Think it’s worth getting some sort of light and following her down there?’ asked Roding. “What the devil are you doing star-gazing here?” Ennison looked at him in surprise. A middle-aged countrywoman, plump of cheek, and a little shy. . “Your friend, “DAVID COURTLAW.
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