. At last she glanced at a little clock in the corner of the room, and sprang to her feet. “Troubles, my friend,” she exclaimed lightly. “Who tied this scarf here?” he asked, looking up. Her heart was beating with quite unaccustomed vigour, her hands were hot, she was conscious of a warmth in her blood which the summer sunshine was scarcely responsible for. At this time of universal havoc and despair,—when all London quaked at the voice of the storm,—the carpenter, who was exposed to its utmost fury, fared better than might have been anticipated. Sepulchre's church, where, in compliance with an old custom, it halted. . Capes was irritatingly judicial in the matter, neither absurdly against, in which case one might have smashed him, or hopelessly undecided, but tepidly sceptical.
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