Uttering a faint scream, she sank backwards, and would have fallen, if it had not been for the interposition of Blueskin, who, at that moment, staggered into the room with a candle in one hand, and the bottle in the other. Here a little delay occurred. The fact that it was her trusted friend making illicit love to her remained, in spite of all her effort, an insignificant thing in her mind. He seemed to charge her with the ruin of their situation. Perhaps she would have to charge this man and appear in a police-court next day. Immediately behind this individual, came a pale, poverty-stricken woman, whose forlorn aspect contrasted strongly with his plump and comfortable physiognomy. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn.
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