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. Hist!" cried he, as a scream was heard from without. “I’d run away with you in a heartbeat. A long shrill cat-call in the gallery seemed to be the signal. “Of course he may merely have been telling her who we were, but I think it improbable. Perhaps these few words were the first real conscious words he had uttered in days.
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