‘For God’s sake, let go my hand,’ he begged. The stipendiary would have done it all very differently. She fluttered it with a trembling hand, averting her eyes from his, and he could hear her uneven breath behind it. Here he halted; and, looking upwards, read, at the foot of an immense sign-board, displaying a gaudily-painted angel with expanded pinions and an olive-branch, not the name he expected to find, but that of WILLIAM KNEEBONE, WOOLLENDRAPER. We looked upon you, my dear Sir John, with reverence, almost with awe. There was nothing to be learned from her face.
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