“Quite an unimportant one,” he assured her. “What are you doing?” He cried. Something with iron resolve the father had kept hidden all these years in the lonely citadel of his heart. Wood set off at full speed from the Mint, and, hurrying he scarce knew whither (for there was such a continual buzzing in his ears and dancing in his eyes, as almost to take away the power of reflection), he held on at a brisk pace till his strength completely failed him. So, in broken, rather breathless phrases, he told his story; and when he had done, he laid his arms upon the table and bent his head to them. It was noon when the caravan reached the tower of the water-clock.
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