Wood's reply, if he intended any, was cut short by a loud knocking at the door. “Have you told anybody else?” Lucy asked. The pavement had been hastily picked up, and heaped across the end of the street, upon which planks, barrels, and other barricades, were laid. He had deliberately saved it for last. At night she would turn it in her fingers like a rosary bead. “When did you start?” She said between puffs. Mounting the door he had last opened, he placed his hands on the wall above, and quickly drew himself up. When I have traversed the streets a houseless wanderer, driven with curses from every door where I have solicited alms, and with blows from every gateway where I have sought shelter,—when I have crept into some deserted building, and stretched my wearied limbs upon a bulk, in the vain hope of repose,—or, worse than all, when, frenzied with want, I have yielded to horrible temptation, and earned a meal in the only way I could earn one,—when I have felt, at times like these, my heart sink within me, I have drank of this drink, and have at once forgotten my cares, my poverty, my guilt. ‘Now I see why you’re marrying this woman, Hilary.
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