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. So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity. They began the evening like usual, driving down highways and byways. " "Of course," rejoined Quilt, maliciously; "every thief is so. As though it was indelicate—it’s just a sort of shyness. ’ She shuddered, throwing her hands over her face. Loved his memory still, for all he knew. Gwen made an inquiry, and, directed by Mrs.
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