"The Dutchman was right, after all. Wood's favourite sitting-room, and her image was so intimately associated with it, neither the carpenter nor his daughter could muster courage to enter it before. "Who knows but this key may open a golden lock one of these days?" And, picking it up, he thrust it into his pocket. Eggs were procured for her, and she sat out the subsequent emotions and eloquence with the dignity becoming an injured lady of good family. " "Your secret?" demanded Trenchard, impatiently. In fact, Kimble was drowsily awake when she entered the little bedchamber, the state of which left a good deal to be desired, even without the added debris arising from tending a wounded man. Oh, what’s his name? It’s on the tip of my tongue.
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