Blood dripped down one side of her forehead. It is not possible for us to be on friendly terms with a young man who has been seen in a public place, having supper alone with your sister after midnight. Casting a hasty glance at the old and ruinous prison belonging to the liberty of the Bishop of Winchester (whose palace formerly adjoined the river), called the Clink, which gave its name to the street, along which he walked: and noticing, with some uneasiness, the melancholy manner in which the wind whistled through its barred casements, the carpenter followed his companion down an opening to the right, and presently arrived at the water-side. “Isn’t that rather a strange question—under the circumstances?” he asked quietly.
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