He led her unerringly, pushing her down the narrow stairway that had been the servants’ access to the upper floors, and thence through a small door that led into the chapel. “Unless you have an appointment, which you haven’t,” he said, “you’ll only waste your time here. On the groundfloor the shutters were closed, or, to speak more correctly, altogether nailed up, and presented a very singular appearance, being patched all over with the soles of old shoes, rusty hobnails, and bits of iron hoops, the ingenious device of the former occupant of the apartment, Paul Groves, the cobbler, to whom we have before alluded. “Hola Marteen!” She exclaimed cheerfully. It took Marina in three days. Wood in their favour. “I thought you wanted to have a talk to me,” she said. Wood, leaping from the bed. ” He was not in the least surprised.
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