It did not matter that he wore the cloth; something was wrong with him. Casting a hasty glance at the old and ruinous prison belonging to the liberty of the Bishop of Winchester (whose palace formerly adjoined the river), called the Clink, which gave its name to the street, along which he walked: and noticing, with some uneasiness, the melancholy manner in which the wind whistled through its barred casements, the carpenter followed his companion down an opening to the right, and presently arrived at the water-side. “Oh! I wish,” she said, “that people thought alike about these things. And now I've another job for you. Water I need. Mr. ” “You are not yourself to-night, Courtlaw,” Ennison said. ” “And I also,” Brendon echoed. A new inexplicable madness that urged him to shrill ironically the story of his coat—to take it off and fling it at the feet of any stranger who chanced to be nigh. Feels as if I’ve been dashing back and forth about the whole country, if you want to know. They were things I had meant very much to talk to you about, so that I went home vexed and disappointed, and only relieved myself a little by writing a few verses. For a time he would be the grim Protestant Flagellant, pursuing the idea of self-castigation. “Allow me. To-night there seemed to be a new brilliancy in her eyes, a deeper quality in her tone. He turned to Ruth and McClintock.
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