The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. "Stop, Caliban," interposed Mrs. Ralph. What was the alternative to going home? No alternative appeared in that darkness. She was practically an outcast, she had not even the ghost of a plan as to her future, and she had something less than five pounds in her pocket. There was no past, no future, only this exhilarating present. "All's bowman, my covey.
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