“Delicious!” she murmured. She produced from the depths of her pride the ugly investigatory note of the modern district visitor. It did not seem quite fair. In the obscurity in which it was now seen, it looked like a prison, and, indeed, it was Jonathan's fancy to make it resemble one as much as possible. “We sent for you several hours ago,” he remarked. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. "And so you'll turn highwayman, will you, you young dog?" continued the carpenter, cuffing him soundly,—"rob the mails, like Jack Hall, I suppose. Mr. I hope I haven't given any unintentional offence?" said the widow, again meekly appealing to Wood. “I can’t see what possible benefit can come of discussing things that are settled.
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