At this time of universal havoc and despair,—when all London quaked at the voice of the storm,—the carpenter, who was exposed to its utmost fury, fared better than might have been anticipated. Her voice was soft and singularly musical; but from time to time she uttered old-fashioned words which forced him to grope mentally. A hollow plunge, echoed and re-echoed by the walls, marked his descent into the water. Her thought spoke aloud. “He is one of our guests—perhaps I should say boarders here, but he seldom returns before dinner-time. Every one has to make a deal with the world. "At least I'll try," replied Jonathan, sarcastically. Good night.
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