Again having recourse to the centre-bit,—for Winifred's door was locked,—Jack had nearly cut out a panel, when a sudden outcry was raised in the carpenter's chamber. Your life is like a funeral March. "It is time!" "For what?" grumbled the latter, rubbing his eyes. Who was he to tread on her dreams? She had heroworshipped an unscrupulous adventurer, who had not hesitated to impose on her youth and her ignorance. Wood," returned Jackson, with the utmost composure; "you're a headborough, and a loyal subject of King George. The reply he received this time put him into a state of continuous bewilderment.
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