On that first occasion, the delay in locating the entrance to the secret passage meant that she had to wait until morning to make her search. Forgetting her occupation in her anger, she left off bathing Darrell's wrist; and, squeezing his arm so tightly that the boy winced with pain, she clapped her right hand upon her hip, and turned, with flashing eyes and an inflamed countenance, towards her crest-fallen spouse. " "You're agitating yourself unnecessarily, Joan," returned Wood, in a soothing voice. "Poor fellow! I'm glad he has escaped. “Poor Lucy!” Cathy exclaimed as she rushed in the door, umbrella sheathed. Now how in the world was he to get rid of the husband? His luck was in. This person—this Jonathan Wild, whom I beheld for the first time, scarcely an hour ago, in Wych Street, is—I know not why—my enemy.
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