The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. The sun was setting, casting long dreary shadows across deformed apple trees. "Why, of hanging the fellow who acts as his jackal; one Blake, or Blueskin, I think he's called. One of the most barbarous murders ever committed has just been perpetrated by the monster Wild. Kneebone, who was on the point of departing. " So saying, he rushed out, followed by Ireton and Langley.
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